The Castle of Thunder and Ashes
by avadakedavras
Summary: After Touko lost the final battle, Team Plasma took over Unova and forced everyone to release their Pokemon. Well aware of the instability that fuels the region, Ghetsis orders Touko to marry N, symbolizing the defeat of Unova's hero and the beginning of Plasma's new age. Forced to love a man she hardly knows, Touko can't help but get a bit...curious. Eventual ToukoxN. Some lemons.
1. Prelude: The Fall

**A/N: I decided to try my hand at a Pokemon fic. I'm not sure if people are still interested in Touko/N fanfiction, but I hope this fanfic will capture readers' attention. I'll be calling Touko by her Japanese name since I abhor the name 'Hilda.' Similarly, I will be calling 'Hilbert' Touya. This is just the prologue part, so it might be a little shorter than some other chapters. I promise the other chapters will be longer. Please read and review! I appreciate reviews. (:**

**Also, be warned that the rating is temporary. At some point, it will probably go up to 'M'. The 'T' rating is to attract more potential readers, but the rating will go up eventually.**

**P.S. Thank you to whoever made this lovely cover image! I found it on . Don't know if the artist is Shewolf11, or if that person uploaded the picture, but thank you anyway, Shewolf11.**

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{**PART 1 BEGIN**}

-:-:-

**PRELUDE: The Fall**

A stream of fire whistled past her head, nearly burning her to death as it went by.

On Zekrom's back, Touko gritted her teeth as the attack soared past her, almost singeing her hair in the process. She could feel waves of heat emanating from the blast. It crashed into a pillar, sending up a cloud of debris and dust. Bellowing, Zekrom roared and launched a Dragonbreath at its opponent, Reshiram. The white dragon dodged gracefully and executed a series of complicated loops and u-turns as it charged up another Fusion Flare. Peripherally, she saw her Swoobat finally getting taken out by a Flash Cannon and felt another twinge of pain for her Pokémon. This should not happen to them. This should not be happening at all.

N was sitting on Reshiram. His green hair fluttered behind him and the brim of his baseball cap flapped, charged by the intense energies pervading the throne room. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted, "Give up, Touko! You can't keep doing this forever!"

She snarled back a reply. "You'll never win, N!"

Snapping her fingers, she commanded her Reuniclus to use Focus Blast on Reshiram. The gell-like creature complied, forming an orb of brilliant energy in between its hands and launching it at the target. It seemed like it would finally connect this time.

Just before it hit, N's Klingklang floated up and intercepted the attack. Touko had thought that she had already knocked it out earlier, but that was clearly not the case. With a sound like screeching metal, the orb hit and Klingklang fell back to the ground, smoke streaming from its gears.

With a saddened expression on his face, N whispered something she cannot hear. Then he turned his attention back to her, still frowning.

"Zoroark, Dark Pulse," he said.

Puzzled, Touko looked around until her eyes settled on the wounded Klingklang. Just before it hit the ground, a wave of purple light passed through its body, and it leaped up. In its lupine jaw was a dark sphere already beginning to materialize and engorge. With a thought, Touko directed Zekrom to fly away. Suddenly, she realized that Zekrom was not the beast's intended target. It was Reuniclus, who was completely unprotected since she had ordered it to disregard the maintenance of its barriers at some point during the battle. Without its Light Screen or Protect, it was easy prey for N's shapeshifter.

The orb grew larger and larger, and then, like Butterfree bursting from their cocoons, a beam of dark energy burst from Zoroark's mouth and struck Reuniclus with a sound like a thunderclap. Shrilling and flailing its arms, the Pokémon crashed into a wall and did not emerge.

"Reuniclus!" she shouted, but her words held no power over Reuniclus now. Her Samurott fixed her with a searching look and she nodded. Samurott leapt forward, drawing its scallchop and forming a solid blade of energy from it. It slashed at Zoroark, but the wolf nimbly dodged and raked Samurott's torso with a Night Slash. She saw Vanilluxe rising to compliment the attack, loosing a beam of freezing-cold power from its twin heads and blasting Samurott into the ground. It was so cold that a trail of frost extended from Vanilluxe to her felled Samurott; it had literally frozen the air.

"There is no need for this, Touko," said N. She swiveled around in her seat, shooting daggers at him from her eyes. His expression was one of sympathy, and this infuriated her for some reason. How _dare _he! Of all the nerve!

"Screw you," she spat, and a look hurt flashed across his face, but she deliberately chose to look away. She still had one other Pokémon: her Gigalith. The enormous gem-encrusted titan stood amidst a sea of rubble, the crystals protruding from its body winking red. Pointing at Vanilluxe, she yelled, "Power Gem!"

Glowing stones appeared, first as motes of dust, then pebbles, then sharp glassy rocks. They shot towards Vanilluxe at incredible speed, shattering against the Ice-type and bringing down the dual-headed creature. Vanilluxe cried out as the stones struck, but Touko only felt a cool sense of victory. An eye for an eye.

Immediately, Zoroark dashed to Gigalith, demonstrating its excellent agility. She felt the connection with Zekrom as tightly strung as a violin string; she pulled with her mind and the dragon responded, a fuchsia fire already gushing from the corners of its mouth, but they were too late. Zoroark slammed its claws into Gigalith's head, generating a massive bubble of darkness that spread and burst, dissipating and dissolving into tiny particles that fell like a mist. Gigalith groaned and fell. An eye for an eye indeed.

It was just her and Zekrom now. Rumbling, the darker dragon faced Reshiram and its rider. She gazed at N. Her look was one of sadness and rage. His was just sad.

Glaring, she ordered Zekrom to attack Zoroark. Acquiescing, the big dragon shot forward at a speed so fast she could feel the wind biting into her skin, its body enveloped in a glowing corona of electricity. She could feel every hair on her body standing on end, could feel goosebumps forming on her arms. The wolf had no time to dodge. With a howl, Zekrom rammed into Zoroark. The Dark-type was knocked to the side like a piece of paper caught in a breeze as Zekrom continued towards Reshiram.

Even amidst the electricity surrounding her, she was able to discern N's voice. He was yelling again. She caught sight of his face, twisted in despair. His mouth moved, but his words were just empty air to her.

Reshiram and Zekrom collided in a spectacular burst of power. Fusion Flare hit home, creating a magnificent explosion as bright as the sun. The sphere of fire swirled around Zekrom's body, the Fusion Bolt already surrounding it the only defense against the raging flames. Touko squinted, then closed her eyes. The light and the heat were far too much for her to bear.

Inside her mind, Zekrom spoke to her in his deep baritone voice. _It would seem as if we are trapped._

She responded, _Can you get us out?_

_Perhaps. But Reshiram is a powerful opponent, and his fire is just as powerful as my lightning. I shall try, though._

Screeching, Zekrom drew back its head and shot a beam of red-pink flame from its mouth. The Dragonbreath tore a hole through the fiery prison and hit Reshiram, causing the white dragon to cry out in pain. With a sound like thunder, Zekrom flew through the opening and drove its body into Reshiram. Bolts of electricity arced from the collision, dancing and whirling everywhere. She saw N's face, just as shocked as she was. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly as Reshiram howled, a black mark burned across its chest still sparking with blue energy.

"Haven't you had enough?" she cried. The two dragons circled through the air, eyeing each other warily. The tension was palpable. "Stop this, N. Stop this madness."

He shook his head. "I cannot. For the sake of my friends, for the sake of my dream...I will defeat you!" He looked up, eyes blazing with determination. Wordless communication passed between him and Reshiram, just as she was able to connect with Zekrom's thoughts on a separate level.

"Can't you see that this is for nothing?" she shrieked. She was really getting angry with him now, this complicated boy with the green hair and the twinkling eyes that knew more than they said. She wanted to smack him across the face and ask him why he was participating in Ghetsis' sick game, why didn't he have enough courage to face the father that used him, and why didn't he love her? Unbidden tears stung her eyes, but she wiped them away. Why the hell was he such an enigma?

"You know why we have to do this," he replied. His voice was clear. "I want to give you a fighting chance, Touko. I want to give you a chance to prove that your dreams are stronger than mine. Already you have gained the recognition of Zekrom, and that is no small feat. But if you want to preserve Unova as it is, you will have to beat me in combat." He betrayed no inner turmoil. No, he kept it tucked inside, always tantalizingly out of her reach. Why did he have to be so damn complex?

"This is not your fight. This is not your battle. This is not your dream. It's Ghetsis'." Her voice was pleading now. "Please, N. Stop."

"You're wrong, Touko. This _is _my dream, as much as it is my father's. For that, I will fight. I will fight to protect what I hold dear." He cocked his head to the side. "Can you say the same for yourself?"

This was lunacy. She let a crazed laugh come out of her mouth. They were having a conversation bordering on the philosophical _now_, of all times? The two legendary dragons of Unova were currently locked in an intense no-holds-barred match. They were practically neck and neck with each other. All of their other Pokémon were scattered about, hidden under tons of rock or slumped over in dirty puddles. This was madness, utter and absolute madness, and yet...

N insisted that it be this way. What purpose did their ridiculous battle serve except as some sort of pageant? A ceremony ushering in Unova's new age and new idealogy? She knew N had a dramatic flair for things, but to think that Team Plasma had built a castle right behind the League without their knowing just so that they could duke it out in N's now ruined throne room in a contest that would determine the fate of an entire region?

Perhaps Ghetsis had put him up to it. She had a vague idea of the Sage's twisted thought process. He likely wanted to make her defeat more spectacular, more grand than any other battle. When she fell, N would rise, and Unova would bow at Plasma's feet. N was merely a delightful little accessory for Ghetsis to use at his whim. The figurehead king, and the hidden puppeteer manipulating the pawns and knights behind the scenes. Ghetsis expected everything to play out according to his vision. And in his vision, she was going to lose.

Well, that robed pedophile was _dead wrong. _Zekrom choosing her as his hero had proved that she was at least on equal footing with N and Reshiram. She would conquer him and the rest of Team Plasma and protect Unova.

"Have it your way," she said. "But I _will win_."

"Come forth, then."

She felt a rush of wind as Reshiram flew higher up, trying to gain a height advantage. She responded in kind. _Zekrom, fly up._

_As you wish._

The massive black dragon beat its wings, its tail engine whirring and discharging electricity as it flew after Reshiram. They spiraled and spun around each other, Reshiram's cold blue eyes regarding Zekrom with anger. She felt Zekrom's thrumming heartbeat through his skin. Though the dragon's emotions were abstract, already she was learning to understand her partner as he was doing for her. Zekrom was battle-ready, highly strung, ready to take down Reshiram and with it N's dream of separating Pokémon from people.

No. That was Ghetsis' dream. N envisioned a world where Pokémon lived as a species distinct from humankind, a world where they could live in peace. Part of her understood that dream, but she also felt that it was wrong. Humans and Pokémon had coexisted almost since the dawn of time. To sever that bond would be disastrous. The two species were so deeply intertwined that doing so would inevitably create serious repercussions for both parties.

But N couldn't see that. All he could see was the darker side of human nature. He could only see the abuse, and the hurt, and the suffering, when there was really so much more to the coexistence of both species than he thought. She wanted desperately to make him _see_, make him see that humans and Pokémon could be friends, that she wasn't the only one who thought that way...

What if he was beyond saving? What if Ghetsis had twisted him so thoroughly, corrupted him so that he could never see the brighter side? What if he was ensconced in this dream forever, dedicated to bringing the two species apart? She could never allow that. She _would not _allow that. If he could not see, then she would have to defeat him and bring his plans to an end.

So, she commanded Zekrom to attack Reshiram one more time. Zekrom dove forward, its claws glowing and elongating as it prepared to use Slash. Reshiram was ready, though. Its eyes flashed as a wave of telekinetic energy slammed into Zekrom, sending the black dragon reeling backward. She teetered precariously off-balance before righting herself. Above them, she could see N, the brim of his cap over his eyes. Changing her face into an expressionless mask, she held on tight as Zekrom circled back for another strike.

Back and forth the dragons went, launching bolts of energy and streams of fire at each other. Some of Reshiram's fire burned her leg and she screamed as the flesh bubbled and turned red. But she ignored the pain and kept up a steady stream of orders. Reshiram was a skilled flier, but it could not avoid all of Zekrom's attacks. Crooning, it tucked a limp and tattered wing closer to itself and retreated, heading downward.

"Your mistake," she muttered. "Zekrom, end this with a Fusion Bolt."

_Certainly._

The air was suffused with the smell of ozone as Zekrom charged up. Touko traced her hand in the air and saw sparks leap from her fingers. The sensation was like pins and needles. Her palms were clammy as the electricity built and intensified. And then they were plummeting, Zekrom's muscular arms crossed in front of its chest as it went for the knockout move. Reshiram was still flying, but N turned around and Touko saw fear in his eyes. He beckoned Reshiram to go faster, but she and Zekrom were nearly upon them now. It was over. Ghetsis' dream had backfired. This stage would not be the start of Team Plasma's new age, but the closing of the curtain. She grinned in triumph. She had won.

They never saw it coming.

N turned around a second time, and she saw not fear, but an odd sort of sadness mixed with compassion for her. Confused, she did not notice that Reshiram had also turned and that from its throat came great gouts of fire shooting out like fireworks. Nor did she notice that Zekrom was alarmed, their connection forgotten in the moment. Nor did she notice that Ghetsis was watching from the sidelines, an arrogant smile plastered all over his smug face. The Sage had always been supremely confident, but now his feelings were of assurance. Checkmate, Touko.

In the second before Reshiram unleashed its final attack, she and N stared at each other.

And N said, "I'm sorry."

And in that moment, her world crumbled.

Unlike the previous Fusion Flare, this was a concentrated jet of fire shooting at them at an incredible velocity. It struck Zekrom, shattering the protection afforded to them by Fusion Bolt, and hit them both with the force of a comet. She felt the shockwaves travel all the way through the dragon's body and through her own. Light from the fire blinded her and she was forced to look away. Zekrom's eyes turned glassy as the dragon and its hero tumbled down, ribbons of smoke wreathing them in gray.

The connection was dark. She could not sense Zekrom's mind. She could not sense anything at all. Touko was screaming as they fell from the sky and towards a sheet of solid marble. She screamed and screamed and screamed. She screamed until her voice was hoarse and she began to cough.

She saw N, floating above her. He looked majestic on Reshiram, like some sort of celestial being. Light from a hole in the ceiling made his hair golden and radiant as a halo. His eyes were unreadable. Was he sad for her?

_It doesn't matter_, she thought. _Your words are meaningless to me now._

Dragon and hero fell as one. Touko's eyes closed and her mind seemed to detach itself from her body. She did not feel the impact, did not see the plumes of dust that went up when they collided with the ground, did not hear the earth-shattering roar that issued from Reshiram's mouth.

For all intents and purposes, Touko White was dead.

[. . .]

N and Reshiram descended, alighting upon the massive walkway in the center of the room. Reshiram's claws dug grooves into the carpet as N climbed off and ran to Touko. Zekrom was gone, and in its place was the Dark Stone. A thin haze of electricity still hung in the air, making N's skin prickle. The area where Zekrom had landed was gouged out, as if a meteor had fallen there. Chunks of stone littered the floor, and large holes dotted the curved ceiling. Light spilled in and puddled on the ground.

In the center of the crater was Touko. Her brown hair was splayed out around her and numerous bruises and gashes covered her body. One of her legs was bent at an awkward ankle and N winced. He had done this to her. _Him_.

His hands balled into fists and he fought the urge to cry. Touko, one of the few people he had ever connected with during his travels, was now lying cold and lifeless in a pit in his castle. She looked too _wrong _in death. Death should not take her, not just yet. She was too beautiful.

He recalled the many run-ins they had had while Touko collected badges and he searched for Reshiram. They had first met in Accumula Town after Ghetsis' speech. He was an inconspicuous boy in a baseball cap who had decided to linger after the speech was over, after his father had finished instilling in Accumula a sense of humility and respect for Plasma's goal. It was a noble cause, and for that they had no reason not to doubt the Sage or question his motives. It was merely a speech, after all. What trouble could it cause?

Then, he saw her talking with some of her friends. And he heard something remarkable. Already, even though she had just begun her journey, her Pokémon had taken a liking to her.

At the time, he thought it was an anomaly, an aberration in an otherwise rational formula that dictated that humans and Pokémon could not and would not ever understand each other fully. Even he thought that he would never reach such an intimate level of understanding with his friends. And here she was, the single random variable in his equation, a wild card that would show up again and again to question what he stood for. He did the same with her, though he doubted his words resonated as deeply within her as hers did with him.

Touko, beautiful Touko. He felt the tears sliding down his cheeks and he bit down hard on his lip until he tasted blood. One of his only true human friends. The Sages cared for him, Anthea and Concordia doted on him, and the Shadow Triad protected him, but that was because he was a king. She did not know who he was, yet she continued to meet up with him in the most bizarre places and started to forge a bond with him.

He recalled the night on the Ferris Wheel with the greatest clarity. She was sitting right next to him, her hair falling over his shoulder as they stared at the Nimbasa fireworks. She asked him who he was, and he revealed his identity to her. Surprisingly, she didn't seem shocked that he was the leader of her adversaries, the supposedly villainous team dedicated to 'liberating' Pokémon from people. She nodded calmly and curled up deeper into him, and this brought about a strange feeling that he did not recognize. Sadly, the night ended on a sour note, with two of his followers attempting to attack her. He fled with them, not staying around long enough to see the longing look she gave him as he ran.

Only later did he realize what the strange emotion was. It was love.

How was this strange girl capable of changing him so much? How did she consistently manage to shatter all the walls he had built around himself and try to show him a world he could not see? How?

How could he have been so blind to her? How could he have denied her, rejected her, and at the very last moment, killed her? How could he have watched as she fell to the earth, her lovely blue eyes closing as she tumbled into oblivion?

He fell to his knees over her body, closing his eyes so tightly that it hurt. She was _dead_, _dead _because of his plans, and now he would never get her back...

A moan. He heard it and sprang to his feet. Where did it come from?

Another moan. This time, he looked down and saw Touko opening her mouth weakly and trying to move her arms and legs with no success. His heart stopped.

She wasn't dead! He wanted to scream, to jump and shout. Instead, he checked her pulse with trembling fingers. Yes, there was _something_ there, even though it was weak and fluttery and almost ethereal. She was _alive_, and this brought about a whole range of possibilities. She was _alive_, she wasn't _dead, and _he could not believe it.

"My lord." Turning around, he saw Ghetsis standing above him, peeringly into the pit with interest. "My lord, is she-?"

"Alive," he gasped, voice filled with excitement. "She's alive."

An almost imperceptible scowl twisted the Sage's features before he disguised it with feigned concern. "Alive, my lord?"

N nodded frantically. "She's weak, but her pulse is still there. Bring her to my room. Have Anthea and Concordia attend to her immediately. She needs rest."

"But my lord," Ghetsis began in a wheedling tone, "she is the enemy! Surely you would not house this..._opposer _in your own chambers..."

A furious glare from N silenced him. "She will stay in my room until she recovers. This I command. No one will harm her at all or enter her room unless asked by myself. Is that clear?"

Ghetsis fought back the rage and humiliation rising in him and instead executed a smooth bow. "Of course, my lord," he answered in an obsequious voice, secretly seething inwardly. _That arrogant, stupid child..._

"Go. I will stay by her side until help arrives." N turned away, and Ghetsis swept towards the door, robes swirling around him as he ordered Anthea and Concordia to go to the throne room to attend to Touko.

"Touko, you'll be fine," he assured her while she sucked in raspy, painful breaths. "You'll be alright. I promise."

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**A/N: So, what did you think? Was it good, okay, or bad? Please review**** and tell me what you thought.**

**EDITED AS OF 6/23/13 (reminiscent-afterthoughts, thanks)**


	2. Chapter 1: Wach

**A/N: Wow! Thanks for all the great reviews you guys sent me! It really makes me happy. At the same time, it also put some more pressure on me to make a good follow-up to the introduction. Hope you guys like it. Or at least find it acceptable. Here goes...**

**I will be telling you about something I should have mentioned in the first chapter. **[. . .] **signals a change in POV.** [/ / /] **means that the same character is speaking, but it is some time after the previous conversation/event/etc. Thoughts are in **_i__talics**.**_

**Also, thanks to: _Guest, shadowkitten11, zephyrwindstorm8, AniseAsylum, ikutolover182, Guest, Colourful Concoction, Anxa, Haine-chan, Lucario fan, Naishu, The Light's Refrain, Choco, _and _darkviola _for reviewing! I never expected one chapter to be this popular, so it's a very pleasant surprise. :D I really appreciate it. :)**

**Please read and review!**

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"In my dream I know I am falling. But there is no up or down, no walls or sides or ceilings, just the sensation of cold and darkness everywhere. I am so scared I could scream. But when I open my mouth, nothing happens. And I wonder if you fall forever and never touch down, is it really still falling? I think I will fall forever."

-Lauren Oliver, "Before I Fall"

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**CHAPTER 1: Wach **(_Awake_)

Anthea and Concordia strode into the room, a Gothitelle walking behind them and emanating a soft blue glow. Trailing the Gothitelle, pulled by its psychic power, was a gurney with plush white pillows and an IV drip already attached to it. Touko was too injured to be able to eat any solid foods for a while.

When they reached the pit, they parted and allowed Gothitelle to pass. Uttering a crooning sigh, it lifted its arms and focused on Touko. With little resistance, Touko was lifted up into the air and drifted towards the gurney. She did not stir as she was lowered down and a blanket was draped over her. Bowing, Anthea and Concordia left the throne room, stepping over mounds of rubble as they exited.

Ghetsis stepped forward, a placid smile on his face. "My lord," he said, "you have already won the battle. The challenger is defeated. Do you plan on proceeding with the plan?"

The answer was easy. N nodded, giving his consent. "Though she is wounded, Touko still accepted my conditions when we were at Dragonspiral Tower. It seems that my dreams…have prevailed." He shook his head, not quite believing it himself. Through their occasional matches, Touko had proved herself a capable trainer and a worthy adversary to face Reshiram. Yet, here he was, alive and perfectly sound, while Touko was being whisked away to heal her injuries. His truths had been stronger after all, just as Ghetsis had said. Still, he couldn't completely grasp the face that he had won.

When he looked at Touko, looking so broken and twisted, he felt horribly wrong for her suffering. But rules were rules. He had bested Alder, and now he had bested Touko as well. He was the hero. Though he felt sorry for her, he felt a cool determination at the same time. Touko was a friend, someone dear to him. However, he would not let this alter his decision. He could not abandon his other friends for the sake of a single girl. The liberation would begin.

N times Reshiram minus Touko times Zekrom equals victory for N. A clean answer, no irrational numbers or deviations. It would only follow from such a formula.

Beside him, he felt Reshiram's mental presence as the white dragon stretched its wings and shook free a cloud of dust from its mane. Its voice was sonorous and seemed to echo long after the words-_thoughts_-had been spoken-_dreamed_.

_N,_ the dragon said, _it is as you predicted. We have triumphed._

_Indeed, we have. It's all rather surreal for me. I had little doubt about Alder, but Touko?_

_Alder was weak, and so was Touko. They were both unworthy._

_You're right, I guess._

Reshiram nudged N softly on the shoulder. The dragon's breath was warm, but not unpleasantly so. It felt like being next to a toasty fire on a cold night. _I told you I would only side with those who held truth in the highest regard. Without conviction, you would have perished in my midst immediately. My other, Zekrom, chose wrong. The girl was not right for him, and he still chose her. And look what has happened now. His energies are spent and he will sleep until he is awakened by a worthier hero._

_I still feel like there's something not right about all this. She shouldn't be hurt. Perhaps we went too far?_

_Is this doubt, N Harmonia? Does your faith in the Purest Truth waver? _

_No. _

Reshiram snorted. _If you were lying, I would be able to sense it. You are powerful, N. The time has come for you to use that power to make your dreams a reality._

_I agree._

He spoke to Ghetsis. "I'll leave most of the work up to you. First, access the PC system and release every Pokémon stored inside. Then, head to all the towns and cities and announce Plasma's victory. The other Sages will aid you in this."

"What of you, my lord? Are you not planning to go with Reshiram and announce your victory in person?"

"I will do so eventually. For now, you will establish your hold over the cities. My official announcement will happen shortly after. I want you to tell them that the cycle of abuse is at an end and that they are kindly asked to comply with our demands, or we will forcibly separate them from each other. Is that clear?"

Free choice was something he advocated in his campaign. His dream was his top priority, yes, but he did not want the transition to be uncomfortable for the Unovans. He wanted them to realize Reshiram's power and gradually release their Pokémon when they felt comfortable with the idea. The PC idea had been thought up by Ghetsis and his technical staff. Ghetsis had wanted a sudden, quick break followed a slower process as the Unovan people realized the truth in his words and came around of their own will. Though he had had his doubts, he had eventually agreed that it was a good idea and given his approval. Now, a niggling worry settled at the back of his mind only to be overridden by Reshiram. The dragon shook its head in an almost reprimanding manner, as if to scold him for the very thought.

"Excellent decision, my lord." Ghetsis smiled. "I will have Dr. Chronus and the others working on phase 1 of the liberation immediately. Your will is ours, sir."

"Good. Please get to work soon. I will attend to Touko after."

"Very good, my lord." Ghetsis walked out of the room, sweeping his robes around him as he left. The Sage kept his glee under control, keeping his face a composed mask as he walked down the castle's many corridors to convene with the other Sages.

N stood in place for a while, swaying slightly in a nonexistent breeze. He stared at the throne room and all the debris littering it. He stared at his Pokémon and Touko's Pokémon, feeling sadness for all the limp, slouched bodies scattered around. This was what he hated about battles: the aftermath. When he looked back on everything and saw how his friends _hurt_, how they _cried,_ it made him feel monstrous. He regretted being seduced to this sadistic exercise, these battles, by Touko. It was one of the things about her that he found unsettling. He couldn't understand how she, or her friends, or anyone else took pleasure in such vulgar games.

Good friends didn't hurt each other.

_Hypocrite_, his mind scolded. _Don't forget that you hurt Touko, too._

Through their battles, he thought that he had gotten to know her quite well. Sometimes, after the fighting was over, they just sat down and talked. She told her about herself, and he told her about himself. She liked cookies and cream ice cream. He had never tasted ice cream. Her best friends were Bianca and Cheren. He wasn't sure if the Sages were his best friends, or if Anthea and Concordia were. She laughed when he acted goofy or really awkward, and her laughter made him feel very happy inside. In Castelia City, he saw her a couple of times and thought about buying her a Casteliacone at the popular ice cream stand, but decided not to out of shyness.

He wished he had done more for her to repair the rift that now seemed to loom between them. The prince and the common girl. She was always so determined to prove herself, and in a way, he was trying to do the same. They both wanted to change the world in their own way. With goals as lofty as theirs, it was only inevitable that they would clash. What wasn't set in stone was who would win.

And now he had won. He was the champion, not just of the Pokémon League but of Unova itself. He had proved that he and Reshiram were meant to win and bring their dreams to fruition. So why did he feel so conflicted?

He was sort of afraid that after this, Touko would never speak to him again. Even though she was currently injured, he was sure that she hated him for beating her like this. He saw it in her eyes the moment before he blasted her into oblivion. She had looked straight at him and right through him. Did his words mean anything to her now? Or were they just bits of empty air?

_Enough_, said Reshiram. _You dwell too much on these things. There is no reason for you to feel guilt. You won fairly and by no underhanded means. This is your dream, after all. Embrace it._

_Really?_

Ducking its head, Reshiram responded, _You know it better than I do. It was your conviction that summoned me in the first place. It was what forged the connection between you and I. The time has come for you to realize that you are also a key player in the world. It is time for you to shape Unova in your image and bring your dream to life, just as the previous hero did._

_What happened to the first hero? _N asks. He had been curious about this for a while but never asked it. _What was it like being bonded to him?_

_Just as Zekrom was born from the first brother's attempts to preserve the ideals he held so dearly, I was born from the second brother's wish to pursue truth to its fullest extent. You might say that we are manifestations of their dreams. As such, I hold a deep connection to the hero who represents truth. In this case, you. _

_Do you think that I should let Touko go? _

Giving what seemed to be a sigh, Reshiram replied, _I try to keep you away from such things because they only serve as meaningless distractions. And there is also the fact that she is the chosen hero of my other, Zekrom. It is only natural that I would oppose the hero who is alligned with the black dragon. I relate to your emotions to a certain degree, but I cannot fully sway your decisions. If you wish to keep the girl in your castle, then so be it. I will try not to interfere with your choices or your thoughts. _

N walked to the hole in the wall where his throne had once stood. Now, it was gone, having been destroyed during his battle with Touko. Through the aperture he could see miles and miles of rock and sand. An unbroken sea of dust and stone. And beyond that was the rest of Unova, ready to be enlightened. Reshiram looked with him, the big dragon having to lower its head to see through the gap.

He could hardly believe it. Now, after many years of careful grooming and planning, he was ready to lead Unova into a new age of peace. His friends would no longer be mistreated and would be free to live in their natural habitats. The very notion brought a faint half-smile to his lips.

"Well, this is it," N said. "My dreams were stronger than Touko's. The liberation is set to begin."

_And I shall always be beside you as your dreams shape this region, N Harmonia._

[. . .]

It was days before Touko woke up. Her injuries from the fall were more severe than Anthea and Concordia had initially suspected. Five of her ribs were broken, dangerously poking into her organs. She had numerous broken bones all over her body, and the medical personnel attending to her worried that she might have suffered brain damage during the accident. They labored over her for hours and hours, using the best medicines they had and a number of healing moves from their Pokémon on Touko.

After much work, she finally recovered enough that they were able to leave her alone for prolonged periods of time without fearing that she would die while they were gone. The steady beep of the heart monitor and the drip of the IV were the only sounds in the room.

Her eyes fluttered, struggling against the grit that had fused her eyelids shut. Her whole body still ached, and she groaned. Her brain felt like it had been stuffed in cotton, and there was a strange tingly sensation everywhere. Probably because of the copious amounts of morphine she had received while the doctors and nurses operated on her body. Ugh. It was _weird_. She was thirsty. She wanted water. Her stomach rumbled angrily, reminding her of the fact that water wasn't the only thing she needed. Oddly enough, she felt half-full, like she had eaten a snack a while ago. But for the most part she felt hollow. Had she eaten yet?

_What happened to me? _she wondered. Her mind was addled and she found it difficult to concentrate on the events leading up to the-what? She couldn't remember. A feeling of worry clutched her chest and refused to let go.

For the first time in 168 hours, Touko used her voice and croaked, "Hello?" It hurt even to talk. Her throat burned and she tasted bile worming its way up to her mouth from her stomach. Her tongue was a limp, useless thing that was rough and scratchy. Yeah, talking was a bad idea. Attempting to lift her arms, she only succeeded in making herself feel even worse. Oh, shit. Ugh.

She lay there in her bed, trying to keep herself still lest a single movement bring about a sudden flare of pain. It felt terrible to be this weak, to be confined to a single cot and be fed via intravenous drip. She could not move her limbs. She could barely speak. Her head felt itchy and smelled strange; had she bathed in a while? And what had happened to her, anyway?

She finally managed to get her eyes open. Touko blinked, clearing away dark spots in front of her eyes, then winced and turned away as light stung her unprepared retinas. The ceiling fixtures were very bright, that was for sure. Now that she was awake, she realized that the room she was in smelled faintly of lemons. Very clean and antibacterial.

Suddenly, a thought struck her. Where the hell was she? Panic seized Touko as she recalled fighting with N, as the stream of fire shot her and Zekrom down. The pain was so incredible and so acute that she remembered it with complete clarity, though she blacked out at some point. Reshiram had pinned her legs under one of its heavy wings, and she felt her legs breaking, cracking, and it hurt too much for words. Then there was rubble falling from the ceiling, and those landed on the rest of her unprotected torso. She was cut, bruised, assailed by the powerful odors of ozone and smoke, and she could not take everything in at once. Overwhelming sensations of pain and misery flooding through her body like adrenaline.

Terrified, her eyes darted around and settled on things that were not familiar, things that were anachronisms in the world she used to live in. This was not her room. This was not a room at the Pokémon Center or a room at the hotels she stayed in. The walls were painted a pale blue, with white cumulus clouds also painted in to complete the illusion of being surrounded by stretches of open, limitless sky. There was a toy box overflowing with stuffed animals and wooden alphabet blocks, as well as a plain green skateboard propped against the wall. Her eyes went up, and she thought she could make out a mobile of some sort dangling above her.

_Where the hell am I?_ She reached out for Zekrom's mind, hoping to re-establish the connection, only to have her feelings of horror escalate as she realized she could perceive _nothing_, feel _nothing_. Though they had met only recently and in a rather desperate situation, she was so intuned with the dragon's thoughts that to find an empty void was almost akin to waking up and missing an arm or an leg. There was absolutely _nothing _in the space that she grasped at. The absence struck a chord of fear in her and her breathing started coming in quick, short bursts.

_Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap!_

She was aware that she was hyperventilating. Frantically, she tried to get out of the bed that she was lying in, searching for answers. She was in the wrong place. The agony of her defeat and the physical pain she felt blended together into a whirlpool of hysteria until she was hardly capable of rational thought.

_Oh crap oh crap oh CRAP-_

Painfully, she brought herself to a sitting position and turned her head, glancing around her. Everything was painted the same shade of sky blue, and there were even more toys. Plushies, pillows, dartboards, and a train track that wound around her bed. For some reason, the train track aggravated her, as did the assortment of stuffed animals. She felt like they were watching her, insidious little beasts that they were, and she wanted to scream but her throat would not allow that-

Her hand! There were wires attached to it, extending from some machine next to her bed. Furious, she began tearing out the wires one by one and then twisting them, wringing them in her hands as though they were living beings and she could kill them by snapping their necks. With a hoarse shriek, she yanked the last of the wires out and lashed out at the heart monitor, sending it skidding across the room.

The efforts of her actions sent spasms of pain shooting through her body and she held back screams as the pain drew to a crescendo then receded, the cycle not unlike that of the tide. It hurt _everywhere_. Tears coursed down her face as she writhed under the blankets, feeling like her skin was being touched by hot coals. No, there was more to it; it felt like something inside of her was being pulled apart.

Distantly, she heard several people entering the room, their voices loud and sharp to her ears. Groaning, she turned over onto her side and felt the pain peak again. Her teeth gnashed and she bit down on the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood. Coppery and bitter, her tongue probed the wound and she suddenly felt nauseous. Oh, god. She was going to vomit.

"Somebody sedate her!" one of the people yelled. She felt a pair of gloved hands trying to pull her back down, and she resisted, jerking her arm away from the person. Instantly, a rush of the same, awful pain befell her and she was reduced to silent tears and shrieks once more.

"We gave her too much of the anesthetic. I think she's hallucinating," said another person in a worried voice. "Are you sure more sedatives are such a good idea?"

"Look at her!" the first speaker snapped, and she was able to discern that the speaker was a man. "She damn near ruined all the careful operations we made on her. It will take at least a month for all of her injuries to heal, even if we work our hardest. If her broken ribs puncture one of her lungs, then we're basically screwed. Her wounds are mostly internal and they need time to set before getting repaired. We sure won't get any healing done if she insists on going psycho and opening up her stitches."

"She woke up and was probably scared," the second speaker pressed. "It's not like this is home sweet home. She must have been frightened out of her mind to be coming back to consciousness in such a foreign environment. Maybe if we moved her to a nearby hospital or something, it would have made the transition process easier."

The man snorted. "Oh, sure. It's not like moving her to some medical center in Castelia City wouldn't take at least a week on open road, or disturb half of her broken bones. Our medical equipment is much better here in the castle and we have all the resources we need. Could you say the same for those undereducated city fools?"

"Careful. Lord N will be extremely disappointed if we hurt her."

"Yeah? What's he going to do? Kill me? He's too much of a soft-hearted child to do something like that."

"_Shhhh_! Don't you know? His personal executioners are everywhere, they'll hear you if you keep saying these kinds of things-"

Another derisive snort came from the man. "You mean the Shadow Triad? Of course he would need his own hitmen. Because he can't do the job on his own."

"Be quiet! Miss Touko's heart rate is-"

"Oh shit!" the man snarled. She felt the prick of a needle against her skin, felt a cloud seep through her veins and cloud her mind. For reasons she could not understand, she was suddenly feeling very sleepy.

"You'll give her an overdose! What are you doing?"

"Trying to get her to stop thrashing around so much! The sedative will keep her down for a while."

"Enough, enough! Are you trying to kill her or something? Stop!"

"Doctor Akagi! The patient is already sedated! Please remove the injector!"

"_Let me do my job, damn it_!"

She felt the needle withdraw, but the cloud still lingered. Her mind flashed in and out of sleep and clarity, like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff and couldn't decide whether to stay on land or fall off. She wanted to fall off. The pain was becoming far more acute, though the cloud numbed it somewhat. Her dry tongue flicked across her parched lips and she struggled to keep her eyes open. The bright lights were obscured by shadowy figures hovering over her, barking instructions at each other. Couldn't they keep it down? She was so tired and it was so boisterous outside. Geez, all she wanted was some peace and quiet. Was it too much trouble for the nurses and doctors to give her that much?

"D-Doctor Akagi! The patient is-"

She closed her eyes and drifted away.

[/ / /]

Her second sleep was not as long as the first one. This time, the pain had gone back to being a dull ache and stayed that way, though it felt like her legs and arms were just recovering from muscle cramps. Someone had wiped the grit from her eyes, as well as the accumulated grime on her face. She couldn't see herself, but she just felt a little more _clean. _

Opening her eyes carefully to avoid being blinded by the lights above her head, she let out a deep yawn and tried to sit upright in bed. She got halfway before a sudden sharp burst of pain in her lower abdomen forced her to settle down in her previous position. She ground her teeth together so hard that it sounded like a saw cutting through wood. She hated her immobility.

She heard something. Turning her head as far as she could manage, she looked around, searching for the source of the sound. Her eyes fell upon a tiny music box atop the box of toys. It was made of a rich red-brown mahogany, and it was opened to reveal a little winged figure dancing in time to the music. The melody was an unfamiliar one, but there was something about it that was enigmatic and a little eerie. She thought it sounded a bit sad, but also curious at the same time. Almost like some sort of dirge.

The winged figure was exceptionally designed. She wasn't sure, but she thought that she could see individual feathers painted on the wings. Its movements were a bit choppy, but still held an unusual grace for something supposed to be simple. When the melody finally stopped, the figure began moving slower and slower until it ground to a halt, slender white hands still upraised. Touko shivered. The stillness was unsettling.

Her eyes flickered to the rest of the room-what she could see without getting up, anyway. There were toys everywhere she looked. Puzzles, plastic blocks, action figures, and plushies were stuffed into bins or piled into corners. If she craned her neck and squinted, she could see the mobile dangling overhead. She could see dark airplanes attached to strings, lazily drifting in circles. This was the strangest room she had ever been in. Why was she in a child's playroom?

Averting her gaze from the mobile, she turned to look at the music box again, but instead found herself staring at a mysterious white-haired man who had appeared out of nowhere. Shocked and scared, Touko screamed, but the stranger seemed not to care. She hadn't even heard him come into the room! Recovering from her fright, Touko swallowed and looked the man over. He was dressed entirely in loosely-fitting black clothes, wearing a sleeveless tunic and fingerless cloves. The bottom portion of his face was covered in a mask, making him look like a ninja.

With a jolt, Touko recognized him as one of the members of the Shadow Triad, the trio of shadowy triplets that served N. Or rather, they only served N to a certain degree. The Triad was mostly loyal to Ghetsis, and had often appeared randomly to deliver messages to her sent by the Sage. They were virtually undetectable and never showed any sign of emotion. The presence of the single Triad member scared her more than anything. She felt her heart hammering a steady drumbeat in her chest as she looked at the Shadow and he looked back.

"Miss Touko," he said, giving a small nod that was more of a shrug than anything. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," she rasped. "But I'm feeling a little thirsty. Could I have some water, please?" Every word was bitter and sounded rusty coming from her mouth. She felt dry as dust. She yearned for a glass of cool water to soothe her throat.

The Shadow withdrew a large silver canteen from behind his back and walked over to Touko until he was standing right next to her head. Opening the canteen, he tipped it over her mouth and let the water fall in.

It was heavenly. The water was crisp, cool, and tasted faintly of raspberries. She couldn't get enough. Eagerly, her stiff fingers reached for the canteen and the Shadow surrendered it without resistance. She drank every last drop in the canteen, but she still wasn't completely satisfied. She craved _more_, wanted _more _water, but she felt that it would be pushing it if she asked for more.

As if reading her thoughts, the white-haired man said, "If you want, you can have some more water."

"Yes, please. And thank you."

The Shadow left the room and returned quickly. This time, he held two more canteens. He set two on her lap and gave her the first one. Trembling, she uncapped the canteen and drank. Her thirst was all-consuming. She drank, shaking the bottle for the last few drops, unwilling to waste anything. She finished the second canteen just as quickly, drinking so fast that water leaked from the corners of her mouth. Without a word, the Shadow procured a napkin from somewhere and wiped her mouth. Surprised, Touko stopped drinking and stared at the Shadow in astonishment.

"Is something the matter, Miss Touko?" the Shadow inquired.

Touko shook her head. It was just that that was the most intimate action she had ever _seen _the Shadow perform. She was more surprised that it was on _her_, of all people. The Shadow Triad seemed so apathetic and cold that even the simple act of wiping her mouth for her was a bit of a surprise.

Finishing the second canteen, she decided to save the third for last, just in case she got thirsty again. Her thirst was pretty much sated for the time. She ran her tongue over her lips, delighted at having her thirst quenched.

"E-excuse me?" she asked. The Shadow was still standing by her, motionless. "Um, what's your name?"

He stared at her for what seemed like such a long while that she began to feel uncomfortable and wondered if she had asked a bad question. The Shadow Triad were secretive people, after all. If they didn't want to give away their names for covert purposes, then they didn't have to. Especially not for some bedridden girl.

Eventually, though, the Shadow answered. "You may call me Two, if you wish."

"Two?"

"Yes."

He was named after a number? How odd. She then realized that this was probably a codename of sorts and it was most likely the closest she would ever get to knowing his true identity.

"Two...where am I, exactly?"

"You are in Team Plasma's castle. The room you are currently staying in belongs to my Lord N."

His words hit her like lightning. So it was true, then. She was really in N's castle. And this was N's room that she was staying in.

"I...what happened to me?"

Without a trace of emotion in his voice, he said, "You were severely injured during your battle with Lord N. Lord N has graciously allowed you to stay here until you recover fully."

"What happens after that?"

"You will remain here."

"What?"

"You will remain in this castle, Miss Touko, for the rest of your days. You are forbidden from leaving to visit the outside world, except if our Lord N allows it. Even then, you must return. Surely you did not think we would let you waltz out at your leisure?"

She struggled to breath as the weight of his words truly took hold. Her face was pale, and she clutched an empty canteen for reassurance. He was lying, of course he was. That was it. _That had to be it._

It was even harder to speak now, to declare that he was joking about it and that this was some form of unjustly inflicted psychological torture. She was going to leave. Yes, she was going to leave. N would let her go. He would understand.

"B-but..."

"But what? I can assure you that your stay will not be uncomfortable. A room of your own can be built, if you so wish. Team Plasma will attend to you as they do for Lord N and the Sages. You will have what you need."

"But _this is not my home_," she choked out. "I don't belong her. What about my friends? My parents? I live in Nuvema Town, that's my _real home_, not this castle with N..."

"Are you displeased with your accommodations, Miss Touko? Our doctors have spent day and night working on your injuries at the request of Lord N. For a time, you were even hooked up to life support. We have pulled you from the brink of death. But if you want, we can leave you somewhere where you will be more happier. The caves of Victory Road, perhaps? You can stay there and hope that a Trainer finds you in your unlucky condition and decides to help you. Or perhaps some wild Pokémon will reach you first." Even though the Shadow's voice was devoid of any inflection as to suggest to his current mood, his tone had become even icier than usual. "Perhaps that would be what you desire."

"No, I...I..." She was at a lost for words. How could she counter a threat like that? It was true; Team Plasma had cared for her when she was almost dead and had brought her back to life. She was incredibly grateful for their kindness. But she could not live here. This was not where she belonged. She belonged back in Nuvema Town, in her familiar room and with her smiling mother. She belonged with Cheren, Bianca, and the friendly Professor Juniper, the people who had supported her during her journey and supplemented her with useful advice and objects. These were her friends. As much as Team Plasma had helped her, she felt out of place.

And of course, what if Ghetsis had some sinister purpose for her? She shivered at the memory of the Head Sage and his diabolical machinations.

Wait. A thought occurred to her. If she was in this room, injured and barely held together by the combined efforts of the doctors and nurses, then that meant-

N had won. His dreams were stronger than hers. He would be the hero to change Unova. She had failed.

Hot tears sprang from her eyes, but she wiped them away. _N had won_. She had remembered this before, but hadn't had time to dwell on it before she went to sleep again. Oh god, N had won.

"It would be wise to accept my master's hospitality. There are worse things he could order done to you."

Now that he was the champion of Unova, that was certainly possible. Bitterness for her defeat rose in her, coupled with a crushing despair that she was _powerless_, absolutely incapable of doing anything to thwart his plans. She had agreed to challenge him in a final duel to end everything, and she had miscalculated and she had lost. And now here she was, her body broken and her heart even more torn up.

_She lost._

"I..." She did not know what to say. She had run out of things to say. Mutely, she stared at the canteen in her hands, her distorted face reflected off of its silver surface.

Knowing that she was cowed, the Shadow brought their conversation to an end. "Lady Concordia will be bringing you food shortly. You would do well to think on what is good for you and what is not."

He left and she was all alone in the room with only the toys for company. The sky-blue walls did not make her feel free; they boxed her in more efficiently than any prison cell could. Would she ever see the sky again? She wasn't sure.

The tears poured from her eyes, salty and wet. She was trapped, and she couldn't do anything about it.

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**A/N: Good? Bad? Decent? Tell me in a review. :)**


	3. Chapter 2: Verzweiflung

**A/N: I am so flattered by all the encouraging reviews I'm getting! (: Thank you to: _zephyrwindstorm8, Guest, Anxa, ikutolover182, Blu Rose, Hiyu, ReadWriteLove715, Haine-chan, The Light's Refrain, fanficsareawesome, _and _darkviola_. Your reviews make my day, so thank you very much for reviewing! I hope that this chapter is okay. :) R&R, please! **

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"This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper."

-T.S. Eliot

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**CHAPTER 2: Verzweiflung **(_Despair_)

It was only appropriate that the first place Ghetsis would go was Accumula Town, one of the very first locations that he held his speeches at. Snug inside the elegantly furnished cockpit of one of Plasma's white helicopters, he smiled and sipped tea from a jade-green cup as he saw the familiar upraised patch of land where he had given the residents of Accumula something to think about. They had planted a cherry tree there, and the blossoms were now in bloom, pink petals falling to the ground and swirling in the wind.

Clouds brushed against the helicopter and then parted, billowing to the sides like wispy streamers. The rotors were creating powerful gusts of wind around them, keeping the clouds away. Sunlight glanced off of the chrome and flashed like a million diamonds. It was bright outside, the air tinged with the warmth of spring. But traces of the cold still lingered. The cold always lingered. It was heat that vacillated with the seasons.

_That was how nature always worked, wasn't it? _mused Ghetsis. _The cold is always permanent, but warmth can be stripped away in hours to reveal the bitter freezing cold of winter. Water can become ice. Death, bereft of life. Life is only a fleeting thing, whereas death continues to watch over humanity and will do so for millennia to come. But what is hidden in the snow comes forth in the thaw. That is why it is best for winter to stay and spring to never arrive._

With them were four more helicopters, each bearing Team Plasma's insignia on their side. There were five grunts in every helicopter, with the exception of the helicopter he was in right now. The rest of the Sages were all flying to the major cities to deliver news of Lord N's victory over Touko, Unova's hero. Ghetsis could imagine the abject look of horror sweeping through the crowds as the recording of N and Touko's battle played and they saw her fall.

Beside him was one of the Shadow Triad. The Shadow sat completely still in his seat, his arms folded across his chest as he gazed out a window. The Triad was so quiet that sometimes, grunts had forgotten about their continued presence, how they would always be there to protect N or Ghetsis or the rest of the Sages. That was one of their great strengths, Ghetsis believed: the fact that they could be almost totally invisible sometimes, so that when they struck no one would be able to react in time to save themselves.

"Tea?" Ghetsis asked, offering a teapot with a dragon-shaped handle. The Shadow declined, shaking his head. Smiling, Ghetsis returned the teapot to the table set in between him and the white-haired man. That was another thing about the Shadow Triad. They rarely seemed to eat. Indeed, Ghetsis had only seen them eating on a few occasions, and even then it was mostly just salads, grilled meat, and miso soup. They carefully watched over and balanced their diets, for how could a fat man move with such stealth and be as unseen as the Triad could?

He returned to what he had been doing. Currently, he was occupied with observing as his fellow Sages landed and began their speeches, using the webcam feature on his laptop. Bronius was the first to arrive in his designated area: Opelucid City. Rood and Zinzolin had been sent to Nimbasa and Driftveil City, respectively. Gorm was on his way to Castelia City, while Giallo went ahead of him to Nacrene City. Ryoku was going to Mistralton City first before flying to the hard-to-access Icirrus City. Every movement was perfectly coordinated, every action just so. It was all part of a perfect formula, one his son kept trying to create. Ghetsis grinned. The problem with N was that he couldn't see past emotions, couldn't take the big risks or make the difficult choices. That's what _he _was here for. To regard everything with cold, calculating eyes and determine what was the most efficient plan of action. Mathematics was merely a game, after all; a puzzle that had to be fitted just right so that in the end you got a lovely little picture to look at. In that sense, mathematics and success weren't that different.

The Sages were all displayed on a single screen split into six different sections. Gorm, Bronius, Rood, and Giallo looked unruffled and calm as always. Zinzolin appeared somewhat unhappy, as if wondering whether his return to Driftveil City was some sort of cruel joke. Ryoku was placid, his expression halfway between serenity and boredom.

"Studium scientiae, ut nobis serviant," he greeted them.

"Sumus sapere," they answered.

"I trust everything is going as prepared?" he asked.

"It appears that our flight has run into some difficulties," admitted Ryoku. "There is a heavy storm and it is hard to advance. But we will continue on."

"Excellent." He nodded. "What about you, Rood? Any problems?"

"None, sir," answered the red Sage. "As we speak, our helicopter is landing in Big Stadium. There is already a crowd assembled for a sporting event."

"Hmm. Well, Nimbasa will have to cancel their plans, eh? Giallo? When do you expect to arrive?"

"In approximately twenty more minutes, sir. Our flight will be shorter than yours."

"Yes." He took another sip of tea and pressed a finger to his lips in contemplation. "Gorm?"

"Sir."

"You can broadcast the video via the electronic signboards, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know that the Castelia City Police hasd already received word of your approach thirty minutes ago and have had ample time to prepare a series of firewalls to prevent you from overriding their security network?"

A pause from Gorm. Then the Sage bowed deeply. "I am sorry, sir. We were not careful enough."

"The fault is not yours. We had not anticipated the possibility that a bystander would be able to see you, especially if you were camouflaged...no matter. What you need in this situation is a virus."

"A virus?"

"To keep their firewalls busy, and to break down their safeguards. A Trojan horse would be best. They are still in the process of installing antivirus software and boosting their system. A Trojan would be nearly undetectable amidst the flow of data." Ghetsis' fingers flew swiftly across the laptop's keyboard as he gathered several files and prepared to send it. "I have a Trojan that will obstruct the flow, but it is you who must devise a virus that will cripple them. The distractor Trojan is being sent to you right now. The rest is up to you, Gorm. Can you do this?"

"Of course, sir."

"Very well."

"And the rest of you shall arrive according to schedule?"

"Yes, sir," the Sages chorused.

"Very good."

Ghetsis finished his tea and set it aside before closing his laptop and putting it inside a case. Steepling his hands, he swilled the tea lightly around his mouth before swallowing. Earl Gray. A favorite of his.

"Shall we land now, sir?" asked the grunt in the pilot's seat. Instead of being dressed in the usual ridiculous knight costumes, Ghetsis had ordered that the grunts wear neat white suits with crisp pants and skirts for a more professional feel. It was so much more elegant and besides, it radiated competence, elegance, and was intimidating. That was the point that he wanted to stress. Who would be scared of a group of people who looked like they had stuffed their clothes with pillows? The Plasma symbol would still remain on their suits, of course. He conceded that that was a good thing to keep on, even though he had hated the idea suggested by N that the grunts be dressed in the absurd knight outfits.

Still musing over the costumes, Ghetsis told the grunt to wait for the others to land before they did. The grunt nodded as he maneuvered the helicopter higher up in the air and waited for the other four helicopters to descend. Without the carrot-colored dye, the grunt's hair appeared to be black and gelled into bristly spikes. Ghetsis liked that. An air of professional cool, of refinement and superiority; that was what he liked.

Two of the helicopters touched down in Accumula's main square first, followed by the other two. The doors slid open and grunts poured out, planting Team Plasma's banners firmly in the ground and then standing to attention in two rows as his own helicopter landed. One of the grunts scurried out and pulled open his door for him. Shielding his face from the sunlight and the powerful wind currents kicked up by the rotors, Ghetsis stepped out and smiled as he saw Accumula's residents coming out of their houses and apartments with confused, anxious looks on their faces. It was only natural that they were curious. This was only the second visit he had paid to this homey, unspectacular town, but he made out the people here to be sheltered, tightly-knit types who were not accustomed to outsiders. People like him.

There was something about their shock that pleased him. Their looks of confusion, the fact that they _did not understand _why he was here…the stupid, uneducated fools! Such pathetic dullards were beneath him, so far beneath him that he found them the tiniest bit amusing. Trifling commoners. They could not possibly comprehend the plans he housed in his mind, the way every piece had just fallen into place like an aligning of the planets. Such _idiots_! They were nothing to someone like him, an educated intellectual to these dull country bumpkins. Ghetsis chortled quietly to himself as the townspeople assembled and he made ready to speak.

"People of Accumula Town!" he boomed, his voice amplified by the microphone placed in front of him. He swept his arms out dramatically, his brown capes spreading like wings as he gesticulated. "Ladies and gentlemen! Thank you for coming. Today, I would like to share some very important information with you."

Pausing for emphasis, he quickly continued, "I would like to tell you that your champion has been defeated."

The pause that followed was not for emphasis, but resulted from the townspeoples' disbelief. It was quiet for thirty-five seconds. Then a murmur broke out from somewhere in the ground. Then that murmur spread and became a ripple of unease, spreading through the assembled men and women and children and clashing with what they _thought _was a lie. But there was a difference between _thinking _and _knowing_. Still, they chose to ignore these clearly-set boundaries and blurred the lines, descending into a gray patch called _delusion_, sometimes positively referred to as _hope_. They hoped that Ghetsis was lying, hoped that he was drawing on their fears to make them release their friends, the partners whom they had bonded with for months, years, even liftetimes.

He watched as his words sunk in. The people of Accumula Town knew who Touko White was; indeed, her mother had once worked there at the Pokémon Center and had given birth to Touko in the maternity wing before moving to the smaller, quieter Nuvema Town, home to the affluent Professor Juniper. Juniper. A cold anger surged through him as he thought of that woman. Such an annoying do-gooder. He would have to do something about her when this was all over. Yes, he would.

"Where's your proof?" someone yelled. It was a potbellied man whose face was slowly turning a dark shade of red. "How the hell can we take your words as the truth? I say you're just a lying crook trying to take our Pokémon from us, that's what you are."

A whisper of agreement with this man rippled through the crowd. Quiet, hushed words passed between them as they absorbed this bold speaker's declaration and turned it into their resolve. Yes, they believed he was lying.

"Proof?" Ghetsis asked, trying to sound surprised. "But of course." He held up a hand and motioned for two of the grunts to come forward. "Show these good people our proof, if you would be ever so kind."

The grunts, a man and a woman, both wheeled an elegant projector forward. Ghetsis' laptop was already hooked up to it and opened to the video clip. With the press of a button, the clip began to play, a holographic image appearing from it and unfurling in the air. The residents of Accumula Town stared, slack-jawed, as the video of Touko and N started playing.

He took a particular delight in watching as the clip roll and the townspeople watched, with mounting terror, as Touko and N clashed on screen, the two dragons locked in what seemed to be an even match. Then N and Reshiram flew down and Touko made the mistake of going in for a close-range attack. He especially liked it when Reshiram turned around and gave Touko and Zekrom the big reveal, that it had been a trap and they had fallen for it especially hard. The crowd gave a cry of anguish as they saw their hero being blasted by the jet of fire, saw her tumbling down from the sky like an insubstantial little thing, saw her being crushed by Zekrom. He was pleased by all of it. He relished their horrorstruck expressions, reveled in their _defeat_.

"Propaganda!" the man shouted, spittle flying from his mouth, a blood vessel throbbing on his neck. Ghetsis struggled to hold back his laughter at the man's ridiculous, naive look. He looked so fucking _stupid _and _petulant _and blindly _hopeful_. "This clip is doctored! There's no way our Touko could have lost to _your king_!"

"Oh?"

"Get out of this town," the man spat. "Get out of here, you no-good scumbag. You're a con man, nothing more than that."

"You think that I am lying? That this clip is fake?"

"Damn right!"

"Well then, where is your champion? Hmm?"

"She'll get here soon, and then she'll kick your ass, you lying piece of crap."

"Where is she then?" Pretending to turn side to side, looking for Touko's approach, Ghetsis threw up his hands and leered nastily at the man. "Where is your champion? Is she here yet? Is she going to take me down?"

"I told you, she's gonna get here soon!" the man screeched.

"Accumula Town! Where is your hero? Is she here to _save _you?!" Ghetsis cackled. Spreading his arms in a grandiose manner, he continued to rant, "She _lost_, everyone! Even the power of the black dragon, Zekrom, was not enough to save her from being absolutely _defeated_! She is nothing to you now."

"Lies!" a woman yelled. "Touko wouldn't abandon Unova, and she wouldn't let herself be beaten by your king!"

Ghetsis snapped his fingers, and suddenly the screen changed to a picture of Touko, lying in bed. Almost all of her body was covered in bandages, and in some places, spots of blood were visible.

"_This _is your hero!" Ghetsis roared. "A mere girl who in the end was unable to fulfill your expectations and defeat Lord N. Rather, it was _he _who defeated _her_. She is lying in bed right now, nearly even bone in her body broken and with severe internal damage. She is struggling to even _breathe_. Look at your hero; look upon her when she is _broken_."

Reaching inside his robes, he withdrew Touko's battered, soot-covered hat and tossed it into the crowd. They fell back, alarmed.

"Here is your proof! Here is what remains of precious Touko White," he snarled. "Look upon it and see that she is _gone_, that she cannot save you now."

"No..." the woman croaked. "That's...not real..."

"Monster!" the man bellowed. "_You_ did this to her!"

Speaking in a subdued tone, Ghetsis said, "I'm afraid that it _is _real." He shook his head with mock sadness. "And the fault is not mine, but Touko's for getting herself involved. Your hero will not come to save you. Lord N is the victor in this match. As such, Team Plasma is now the one that will determine the fate of Unova."

They waited anxiously for their hero to arrive, such desperate folk that they were. But they knew that his words were the truth. That he spoke of what had happened. And they were forlorn, depressed, anguished by their hero's loss. For her loss was a loss for all of them. They had feared what had happened should Team Plasma seize power, so they directed all their wishes into the body of a single girl. But the girl couldn't handle all their hopes and desires and so she fell in mid-flight, her twisted wings ripping away from her body while she crashed and the black dragon crashed with her. They began to feel the misery, the despair that comes from lost dreams.

"In light of this, our Lord N would like to issue a new decree, the first decree of his that will be made into Unovan law. All citizens of Unova, trainers or not, are required to release their Pokémon within a period of seven days. Those who do not comply with this rule will have their Pokémon forcibly...removed from them." Ghetsis bared a nasty smile as the crowd gave a collective gasp. Many of the younger children had tears streaming from their eyes and snot running from their noses while their parents attempted to console them. The corners of Ghetsis' mouth quirked downward. _Children_. They were unpleasant at best, disgusting at worst.

"If, after a grace period of two days, anyone is still harboring any Pokémon, they will be promptly sent to prison for a stay of one night. This applies to people of _any _age, let me tell you. Including the little ones."

One of the children, a pigtailed girl about six years old, burst into full-on sobs and buried her head in the stomach of someone who was presumably her mother. The mother stared ahead and seemed to look through everything. Her face was drained of color, her lips quivering.

"No one is exempt from Lord N's new decree," Ghetsis said, his voice echoing throughout. He noted with pleasure that the pigtailed girl had stopped crying but was instead sniffling softly into her mother's shirt. Good.

"But we are not finished. Decree number two states that the training of Pokémon by _any _Unovan citizen, except for those granted use of them for medical purposes," he glanced at Nurse Joy, "will be considered an act of terrorism and an attempt to unmake the government and spread anarchy. Therefore, those caught doing so will be sent to prison...for the maximum life sentence."

The crowd was truly unsettled now. The wailing had started up again, mainly caused by the children. Parents did their best to comfort them, while staring at him and the rest of the grunts with looks of terror, numbness, and anger. Nurse Joy, a pink-haired woman, clutched her Audino protectively. The squat, light-furred Pokémon was trembling.

Of course, N hadn't _said _what the consequences for training would be, but Ghetsis had decided to fill in the blanks himself. In the end, what mattered was that it got the job done, that it got the message across to these people. And surely the threat of a life sentence would do just that. Extremism wasn't necessarily conducive to success, but it was usually conducive to fear. And when the people fear you, who will be there to give them courage, considering that their hero has fallen?

Fear is conducive to control.

Control is conducive to success.

"Furthermore, all Gyms will be torn down and replaced with more useful buildings, obviously since training is prohibited." This drew a pained squeak from the pigtailed girl and another boy with sandy hair and freckles scattered across his face like constellations. His hands were formed so tightly into fists that the knuckles were white and his mouth shook as he exerted all the willpower he had in an attempt to keep himself from crying. "The Gym Leaders and the trainers who served under them shall be reintroduced to society."

He watched as his words drove daggers into them, watched as the pain spread. This was the world that many of them had known. This was the world that they had lived in for so long. And now it was falling over, tumbling like a house of cards. Like a stack of dominoes.

It was true what the solipsist had said. The world is not real. Only the people are real.

_Watch as your world is erased. Watch as Team Plasma takes control. Watch as the solipsist becomes a philosopher of profound wisdom. Watch it all happen, and know that we have control. And control is conducive to success._

Success is conducive to power.

But what did power lead to? Perhaps power was conducive to godhood; that bridge that allowed men to cross over and become their own rulers via apotheosis. Power was what made people kings. However, even kings were subservient to gods.

_It wasn't the gods that instilled fear in the hearts of their worshippers. It was the people who did it for them. That is how we will rule._

Smiling, Ghetsis went on, "Oh, do not cry, people of Accumula Town. Your lives will not be affected by this. Team Plasma will provide you with medicine, money, whatever you need to compensate for this. It will be as if you had lived all your lives without Pokémon. Humanity will go on without them by your side."

"You're wrong!" a voice cried.

Another interruption? He turned in the direction of the speaker and saw a lone girl standing stock-still, the people clearing away from her as she walked towards him. Blond hair, large green eyes, and a white dress with a orange sweater vest. Slightly windblown, with tiny scratches on her bare arms and face, but determined. There was resolution in her eyes; he could see it.

"And you are?"

"Bianca," she said, and he was amused that she tried to put some steel into her quavering voice. She looked weak. Childish. Immature. "You're wrong about Touko."

"Am I?"

"She would never let herself be defeated. Touko's too strong for that."

"Is she?"

Her lower lip quivering, Bianca answered, "Yeah. And besides, all the Gym Leaders came to help her. Your king wouldn't have stood a chance if they were on her side."

"A big _if_ there, wouldn't you say?"

Realization dawned on Bianca's face and she put a hand to her mouth. "No, no, don't tell me they were actually-"

"Don't fret, child. Your Gym Leaders were loyal to their cause. They had no ties with Team Plasma, I can assure you. Unfortunately, though, they were unable to attend our king's crowning ceremony. It seems that they didn't...make it _in time_."

He didn't know _who _had alerted the Gym Leaders-he hadn't even known that they had intended to _assist _in the battle-but he was easily able to discern from Bianca's expression that she had attempted to alert them to the location of the castle so that they could send aid. Her face morphed into a paroxysm of anguish as tears began streaming from her eyes in heavy rivulets.

"I...I tried so _hard_," she sobbed, trying to keep it together but failing. "All I ever wanted was to be _useful_. I did my best, and it still wasn't enough! Why?"

Ghetsis watched while she cried. He was a little disgusted, but he kept his stinging remarks to himself. There was no point in wasting his insults on this pathetic, hunched girl. It was unnecessary and distasteful.

"It's too late," he said. "Team Plasma's dreams dictate Unova's direction now. There is no point in resisting. We only strive to make the world of Pokémon better, as is our king's dream."

"That's what you're _wrong_ about," Bianca cried. "Why won't you people ever understand? People and Pokémon can't be separated! They're our friends, they work and live and eat with us every day! You can't just end a bond like that!"

"I beg to differ," he replied in a cold voice. "Touko White knew the consequences of her actions when she chose to challenge our king. She lost. He won. There is nothing to be done about it now."

"Don't you see? The relationship between Pokémon and humans can't be cut off! It's not just humans you're affecting, it's the Pokémon themselves!"

"This is not my decision. It is that of Lord N."

"Well, you can tell your Lord N that he's crazy!" Her hands shook. "He thinks he knows whats best for Pokémon, he thinks he's some sort of liberator for them, but he's wrong! There is more to it than your king thinks! Can't you see? This is bigger than your own selfish goals!"

"Our Lord N's words are now law. Do not resist. You do not want to face the consequences, my dear."

"_You can't do this_!"

"That would be where _you're_ wrong. Team Plasma is stronger than you might think."

"You're just a bunch of thieves!" she shouted, rage now coloring her tone. "You just steal and hide it with your supposed 'noble intentions'! You're all a bunch of liars!"

Frustration rose up in him, and in an even chillier voice than before, he replied, "Be careful what you say, girl."

"It's _you _who should be worried about what you say, mister. Touko will be back. And she's going to take you and your crazy plans to hell, if I don't do it for her first."

"No!" Too late he saw the Pokéball clutched in her hand, saw the bright flash of light that shot from it and coalesced into a solid form, saw the Emboar opening its tusked mouth to unleash a great blast of fire-

Suddenly, a shimmering purple barrier materialized in front of him just as a slender dark shape sprang forward, arms crossed. The fire shot from Emboar's jaws and slammed into the shield, flames swirling and dispersing, a faint smell of smoke in the air. The air was visibly distorted from the heat generated by the blast. The Accumula townspeople screamed and fled, shocked by the intensity of the attack and fearing being caught in the crossfire.

When the flames cleared, a lithe figure stood in the barrier's place. Covered entirely in red and black metal, its hands gleaming blades, an axe affixed to its helmet-shaped head, the Bisharp uttered a cry that sounded like a hundred swords being drawn and lunged at Emboar.

"Flamethrower!" Bianca yelled, attempting to knock out the Bisharp in one hit by utilizing her Emboar's type advantage. But though Emboar's Fire-Fighting combination gave it a distinct upper hand over the Dark-Steel Bisharp, and even though it was a powerful attacking Pokémon, it lacked speed. It was not able to react quickly. Bisharp was quicker, and thus was able to strike more efficiently than Emboar.

Dodging the volley of fire, Bisharp twirled in the air, its blades flashing white in the sunlight before becoming unnaturally bright. It seemed to hover in place for a moment, but then it came down and slashed Emboar across the chest. Roaring, Emboar reeled back, blood spurting from the grisly wound and coating its body. Executing a graceful roll, Bisharp summoned several sharp stones and shot them at Emboar. Colliding with the behemoth, the stones drove deep into Emboar's fur before shattering into sand. The bulky Pokémon groaned and then collapsed.

"Emboar!" Bianca cried, rushing over to her felled partner. Before she could get there, a pair of muscled arms appeared behind her and trapped her in a headlock. Bianca choked and stared up at the face of the Shadow who had materialized without anyone noticing. The white-haired man stared down at her with apathy, lazily looking to Ghetsis for instructions.

"Subdue her," he said, and with a quick jab to the neck, the Shadow rendered Bianca limp and unconsicous in his arms. Carefully, he set her down on the ground and walked back onto the hill, his Bisharp following close behind. Bianca did not move from where she lay. A stray breeze caught the flap of her satchel and pulled it open, allowing papers and empty bottles to roll out.

The residents of Accumula Town looked at him and the Shadow with fearful, apprehensive eyes. More than a few of them were furious, but they quietly seethed beneath the surface, realizing what would happen to them should they dare speak out. The fear was beginning to set in and take root.

"Remember: you have just a week to get rid of your Pokémon. And if you don't..." Ghetsis smirked. "...we will know. And the consequences will not be something to look forward to."

[. . .]

With her brown hair splayed over the pillow like a cloud, Touko stared at the ceiling, watching the painted-on clouds and wished she were looking at real sky instead of this cheap, illusory sky. The Shadow had told her that she was never allowed to leave. Touko couldn't imagine such a thing.

What about her parents? What would her mother do when she never came home? Would she eventually lose hope? Did she know that her daughter was locked in a castle with N, the king of whatever new world he was going to create? Did she know that her daughter was so weary that she just wanted to come back home? Did she realize that her daughter was starting to have her regrets about starting on her journey?

After remaining in her position for several minutes, her legs began to feel uncomfortable so she pulled them apart, then grimaced as a sharp ache went through her body. Gingerly, she spread her legs and continued gazing at the ceiling.

_Cumulus clouds_. Those were the clouds that were painted everywhere. The fluffy, marshmallow-like clouds that symbolized pleasant spring days, lying in a meadow somewhere with your significant other, and just pure _bliss_. Would she ever see another cumulus cloud again?

She couldn't believe that she was fantasizing about clouds right now. Curling into a fetal position, or at least trying to, Touko eventually drifted away into dreamland.

Just as the Shadow had said, Concordia arrived after about thirty minutes with cart holding a slim metal device on one side and a tray with food on the other. Her arrival roused Touko from her nap. She hadn't realized that she had dozed off. How odd that sleep could overtake someone without their knowing. Brushing the sleep from her eyes with her hands, she turned her head to look at Concordia.

She had already finished the water left in the third canteen, and was glad to see that Concordia had brought a glass of cold water with ice cubes in it for her. Concordia wheeled the cart over to her bed and set the tray down on her lap before taking away the empty canteens.

"Your lunch, Miss Touko."

There was a small bowl of dark soup with onions floating on the surface, half of a sandwich with grilled tomatoes, lettuce, and cheese, and a tiny muffin that she could fit between her thumb and index finger. She was a little disappointed with how meager her portions seemed, but she decided that it was better than nothing. There were a fork and a spoon set side-by-side next to the soup bowl. She tried to reach for them, but then she realized that her fingers were still covered in bandages.

Concordia's slim, pale fingers grasped the spoon, scooped up and mouthful of soup, and offered it to her. "Eat."

Touko was surprised. She hadn't thought that Concordia, the yellow-haired woman whom she had only met once, would be _feeding her_. It was just as unexpected as the Shadow holding the bottle for her to drink. Still, there was no way she could handle a spoon in her current state, so she let Concordia feed her small spoonfuls a little bit at a time. It still felt a little strange, knowing that this was _N__'s_ caretaker giving her little bits of soup; Concordia, one of the women who had been closest to N throughout his childhood. She wondered how deeply Concordia and Anthea knew N. She had her suspicions that there was more to it than what appeared at first sight.

The food, despite the small servings, was exceptional. The soup was deliciously salty and rich, and the sandwich tasted amazing. Even the muffin was a tiny bite of heaven. She hadn't eaten anything _real _for so long that she could have eaten almost _anything_. But the meal was just so wonderful that she had to savor every bite.

Concordia fed her everything, the woman's facial expressions never changing during the course of the meal. When Touko was done, Concordia wiped her face with a napkin and put the tray back on the cart. Then she took the metal tablet from the cart and handed it to Touko.

Apprehensive, Touko glanced at the device and back at Concordia. It looked vaguely sinister. "Erm...what is this?"

"An electronic book reader," Concordia responded flatly. "A Kindle-E, I believe. Lord N has downloaded several books for you to read on this. Simply press the button at the bottom to turn it on or off. The reader is touchscreen operated, so all you have to do is slide up or down to choose a book and left and right to flip pages."

"Why not real books?"

"You are incapable of handling a physical book in your current condition. Lord N has graciously provided the reader for your entertainment."

_Ah, right. Stupid, stupid, stupid. _She was injured and trapped in this bed until she got better. She probably wouldn't be able to hold a book in her hands, much less turn a page.

She remembered how she had once spent an hour reading books with her friend, Cheren. They had gone to the library in Nuvema Town and sat in the children's corner for so long, skimming through what seemed like hundreds of picture books talking about Unova's legends. The Weather gods, the dragons of black and white, the Victory Star...how nice it had seemed back then. Back before all of this madness, back before she had gotten herself wrapped up in what was most certainly a mistake. Now she was stuck here, with little chance of going back to the outside world.

How she wished she could get out..._wait_! Yes, there was an opportunity that she could use. A one-shot chance, but still a good one. It probably had a good chance of failing, considering how she was bedridden at the moment, but if she somehow managed by some crazy stroke of luck to execute it...

Concordia got up. "If that is all, Miss Touko, I will leave." She began walking away.

"Wait!" Touko said. Concordia stopped and turned to face her.

"Yes, Miss Touko?"

"Could I...um, use the bathroom?" She hoped, she _hoped _that Concordia would say yes.

"Of course. I'll get you a bedpan right away."

"...what?" Touko could feel her eyes bulging out as she stared at Concordia blankly.

"A bedpan. You can't leave the bed in your current state. I imagine it will be hard enough even _with_ a bedpan..."

"W-wha-you-I need to use the _bathroom_, not a _bedpan_!"

"Do you honestly think that you could get to the bathroom like that? Think rationally, Miss Touko. You have suffered severe damage from your fall with Zekrom. Most of your bones are still broken, even after our doctors attended to you for days, which greatly limits your movements. You wouldn't make it far."

"I just needed to use the-"

"I know what you were aiming for. You wanted to escape."

Touko closed her mouth and looked down at her white blanket. She was so painfully transparent at times.

"Bear in mind, Miss Touko, that any of the Grunts could easily dispatch you as you are should so attempt an escape. Lord N is catering to your needs and providing you with food and a place of rest. Escaping would be incredibly foolish, not to mention pointless. You don't know how to navigate our castle."

Indignation rose in her, and she retorted, "Yes, I do! The last time I-"

"The entrance through which you came in, as well as all the other entrances leading to the League Building have been sealed off. You would have to follow a completely different pathway to reach an exit, and even if you made it out...where would you go? Our castle is situated in the desert. Left to your own devices, there is a 90% chance you will die from dehydration and a 85% chance that you will die from starvation. So I ask you: is it worth it to try and escape?"

Touko said nothing; she only fumed silently. Concordia was right, and that was what was so damn _infuriating_! Cold logic and rationale did away with her arguments so quickly that she felt utterly stupid for even _conceiving _these ideas.

"Our Lord N is a benevolent person. He cares for everyone he considers a friend, and he considers nearly all of his close subjects friends." Touko noted that Concordia's voice trembled slightly. "He is a great person, an innocent person. Others amongst us would not be quite as forgiving should you _try _to leave. This is for your own safety as well. Lord N does not want you to get hurt."

"Why not?" she boldly asked.

"Because he cares for you," said Concordia, and now Touko could hear the sadness in the woman's voice. "To him, you are one of the closest friends he has ever known, perhaps even as close to him as his Pokémon are. He treasures your life greatly. It would devastate him should something happen to you."

_Ironic, right_?_ He was the one who broke me like this, yet he worries for my life_? Touko was tempted to say what she was thinking, but thought better of it.

"He is still berating himself over the fact that he...damaged you in your match. He's trying to make up for it. Not everyone gets this kind of attention."

"He still forbids me from leaving my room, though," she said bitterly.

"There are limits, Miss Touko. Those who enter this castle may never leave permanently. They must always return, no matter what."

"Why?" she demanded. "What's the point? Look at me! I'm weak! I'm hurt! I could never pose a threat to anyone in the state I'm in now!"

"When you get better, I mean."

"You said it yourself: I wouldn't know how to get out of the castle! Why must I stay?!"

"I cannot disclose that."

"Concordia!" Touko shouted, but Concordia had already left, moving behind her cot so that she couldn't see where the entrance was located. She knew there _was _an entrance; how else could Concordia have gotten in to deliver food?

Frustrated, she lay in bed, the blankets twisted in a cottony mass around her. She hardly noticed as Concordia returned with a bedpan and left just as quickly, whatever door was in the room closing behind her and taking Touko's hopes of getting out with it.

_This was her world from now on._

The fake sky mocked her. She wanted to take the bedpan and throw it across the room, chip that ugly blue and white paint from those teasing walls, but she lacked the strength to do so.

_This world is going to be so tiny. How will I cope_? _Even dreams get boring after a while, and then they turn stale. When that happens, my drive will disappear and I will resign myself to living an eternity in this godforsaken room with the stupid bedpan._

[. . .]

A knock on his door made N look up. "Come in," he said.

Concordia pushed the large oak doors open, bowing as she entered. This was N's current bedroom; the room where Touko was staying was his childhood playroom. Though it had doubled as his bedroom as well, Ghetsis had insisted that he be moved to this new room, insisting that the playroom was too immature and not fitting for a future king.

It was lavished quite finely, with most of the furniture painted a shade of green in accordance with his favorite color. There was a large wardrobe in one corner of dark brown mahogany, an elegant marble table across which lay an assortment of Rubik's cubes, a slim lamp with a brass stand shaped like a pair of winding Gyrados, and a locked chest which always lay at the foot of his bed. The bed itself was furnished with plush green pillows and silken sheets. A series of wires always trailed across the bedsheets, connected to N's personal laptop.

N was barefooted, in a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top and his usual brown khakis. He got off as Concordia walked in and ran to her, excited. "Did Touko like it?" he asked.

"She's not had a chance to use the reader yet, my lord," Concordia answered.

"Ah." N rolled on the heels of his feet. "Is she...alright?"

"The same as ever, my lord, though I do expect she'll make a swift recovery. The doctors are saying as much. Her bones show significant improvement compared to the first two days, and she can eat a lunch without vomiting."

"That's excellent. Did she eat the soup?"

"Yes. I made sure to put in some of the medicine, too."

"Great. Great. That'll help speed things along."

There was a pause while N thought about something, finger raised to his chin in a thoughtful expression.

"Oh! Right, I forgot to ask. Did she ask for anything when you were there?"

"Only to go to the bathroom. I just gave her a bedpan, like you told me."

"Ah. Mmhmm." N seemed a little sad, but the look was so fleeting that it was almost undetectable. He was hoping she would ask to see _him_. Was she still that upset with him over the instructions he had given the grunts and his attendants not to let her leave? Ever? What was so bad about that? The castle was actually really fun! He wanted to show her around sometime when she got all better, take her to places she hadn't seen before. Although Ghetsis probably wouldn't approve.

Shifting uncomfortably, he finally asked the question he had been wary of asking. "Do you think she's...coping well?"

"Given the fact that she was planning to disguise a trip to the bathroom as an escape, most likely not. I think this is all very shocking for her."

"But...I don't really understand." He began pacing across the room, running a hand through his messy green hair. "It's not like I'm throwing her in a dungeon or anything! If she asks for something, I'll probably be able to give it to her. She could live like a...like a princess while she's here!"

"If I may, my lord-"

"You may."

"-I don't think it's the material things she wants. It's about the friends and the family she's going to be leaving behind."

"She'll forget," he said dismissively. "I never knew my own real parents. She'll get over it in time."

"That's what's troubling her, my lord. She _does _know her real parents. She's lived with them for a long time. She's their daughter. She clearly has a very strong bond with them. To take away that bond would be...painful for her."

"But I...I was hoping we could have some of our own time to bond."

"I'm sure Miss Touko cares for you just as much. But she has established much stronger bonds with the other people in her life, bonds that precede your friendship with her. You have to remember that she has more than one friend, that she has more than just you. She has her family."

"I just care about her a lot. I don't know how to describe it-"

"Love?"

He stopped fidgeting with a Menger sponge and turned around. He seemed defeated somehow. "Yes. _Love_. I think...I think I might love her. Very much. And I can't stand when she's away..."

"So you keep her close."

"Yes. I just-I can't explain it. It goes against every mathematical formula, this _love_. I don't know why I feel the way I do for her, I'm not even sure what caused this attraction, but I do know that I love her. I love her, Concordia."

"That you do." Concordia took his hands into her own, her fingers soft. "You must understand, Lord N, people aren't at all like formulas. You can't plug in numbers and expect to get clear, concise answers at times. Humanity is its own puzzle that things like logic and reasoning can't entirely solve. Emotions are especially confusing at times, but emotions are what define us and set us apart from machines."

"It's just so _complex_. Sometimes, she can just be so frustratingly _complicated_ that I don't know what to do. Her views are different from mine-_incredibly _different-but somehow I can still find her beautiful. Shouldn't I...I don't know, dislike her instead?"

"Views and opinions separate but do not create an entire rift. If you love Miss Touko, nothing can be done for it."

"That sounds so final."

"It is the truth."

N sighed. "What should I do, then?"

"The decision is not mine to make, Lord N, but yours."

"It's just difficult."

There was another pause. Concordia asked, "If there is anything else you need, Lord N..."

"No. No, it's fine. You may leave now, Concordia."

"My lord." Curtsying, Concordia left the room, closing the doors behind her as she did. N was left alone to ponder what they had spoken about.

Picking up a four-by-four cube, he said, "You can come out, you know."

The air shimmered slightly as N's Zoroark threw off the illusion it had been cloaking itself with and bounded towards N, grinning happily. N laughed as Zoroark pounced on him playfully, dropping the cube with weak protests. "Hey, get off!" he chuckled. "You're too heavy!"

Zoroark barked and then jumped up on N's bed, curling up to sleep. It was mostly recovered from the battle, though it still had some bandages wrapped around an arm that had been especially damaged when Zekrom knocked it away while charging at Reshiram. Still, the Max Potions and Full Restores had done their job well. Zoroark would be back in regular shape in a few more days.

Climbing onto his bed beside the big wolf, N opened up the security footage of Touko in her room. She appeared to be resting at the moment, the reader placed on her lap. Multiple cameras hidden in various corners and behind boxes of toys allowed for various viewpoints. Touko was currently staring at the ceiling, her eyes dull.

He hoped he hadn't hurt her _too _much. What if she was slipping back into her coma? N's eyes widened at the thought and he shook his head to clear it.

Her comatose state in the first few days here had worried him-not unduly, of course. Almost having your body pulverized was likely to do that to a person. He had asked to be in the room with her while the doctors operated, nervously fidgeting with everything in sight and distracting them so much that the doctors had eventually insisted that he leave so they could do their work in peace and quiet.

Oh, he had been distraught. On sleepless nights when her recovery was uncertain, he had worked and worked on various projects on his laptop, hoping that having something to do would distract him from the fact that Touko might be _dying_.

Word of her coming back to consciousness had been a ray of light for him. He was outraged when Doctor Akagi injected her with more morphine. He was so mad that he had considered firing the doctor on the spot should Touko's condition deteriorate. But she had pulled through, as strong as ever.

The important thing was that she was _back_, that she had been pulled back from the brink of death and was relatively healthy and recovering in her bed. He hoped to visit her later, but it sounded like she hated him right now.

It hurt, knowing that one of your closest friends loathed you, _despised _you, wanted to be anywhere but _with _you. Perhaps her hate would never fade. Perhaps he had lost a valuable friend when he had revealed his plans to her. Perhaps he had lost her long before that.

Despite what being a king was supposed to entail, N had few friends. His only friends were his Pokémon and Anthea and Concordia, though the latter two were more like sisters to him. The Seven Sages were his advisors, but he couldn't really consider them his friends. Nor were the Shadow Triad his friends; like Anthea and Concordia, he considered the trio his siblings, like older brothers. But they were so quiet and mysterious all the time that it was hard to establish a close relationship with them.

Truly, the closest _human _friend had had ever had was Touko. And now he was afraid that he would lose her.

The decent thing to do was to apologize. He was still kind of scared of her, though. What if he came in and she exploded, driving him away from her and telling him never to come near her again? That would hurt. That would really hurt.

_Why was he so terrible at relationships_?! Forcefully, N slammed his laptop shut, waking Zoroark. The wolf regarded him curiously, asking him, _What's the matter_?

"It's that girl, Touko," he muttered. "I have no idea what to do about her."

_You've got a crush on her, don't you_?

"Well, yes, but-wait, how did you know? I thought you just tuned me out when I was talking about that kind of stuff."

_You can be rather transparent at times._

N felt his cheeks getting flushed. He hoped he wasn't so easily readable. Arceus, that would be...a nightmare.

_I don't understand why you don't just tell her, boss._

"Because I can't! She hates me!"

_Ah, unrequited love. _The wolf gave a bark of laughter.

"Y-you-I-_stop it_!"

_Just pluck up the courage to tell her how you feel. Or forever let this matter remain unspoken. It's your choice, boss. _With that, Zoroark flicked its tail and went back to sleep.

N groaned and flopped down on a pillow. He would tell her, but he was too scared. Scared of rejection, scared of humiliation, scared of her reaction. Deep down, N was more than a little cowardly when it came to love.

When the person you loved wished you were dead, it probably wasn't a good time to tell her you loved her.

However, he hoped the vast collection of romance novels he had downloaded onto the reader would help point her in the right direction.

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**A/N: Ah, N is a hopeless romantic. What did you think? Please leave a review telling me how you felt about this chapter. :)**


	4. Chapter 3: Des Königs Spielzeug-Teil 1

**A/N: ...urgh. I skipped math homework and studying for tests and crap like that to slave away at this chapter, which has been TORMENTING me for two weeks. No matter how much I wrote, I couldn't get it to sound the way I wanted it to. This is as close to my ideal of Chapter 4 perfection as I can get. It's quite an emotional chapter, I must say. Also, I'm uploading this without input from my beta-reader, so it will likely have some errors. **

**About POV switching: if any of you don't like it very much, I can let you know that the POV switches will mostly be in Part 1 of this fic. For Part 2 and beyond, it will mainly be Touko's POV, with N thrown in sometimes. Cheren's POV will dominate the next chapter, FYI.**

**Thank you to: _ReadWriteLove715, darkviola, Anxa, The Light's Refrain, Haine-chan, AldrutheBrovahkiin, xander's bride, HitsuHinalover, ikutolover182, Hiyu, gaeiaangelis, Serpiginous Toxin, Garnet Hime, Jrhall22,_ ****and _toyatouko _for reviewing. Also, HOLY POTATO CHIPS, THANK YOU SO MUCH to all my new followers/favoriters! Seriously, you guys are THE BEST. **

**R&R, please! :)**

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"I was angry with my friend: I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow."

-William Blake

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**CHAPTER 3: Des Königs Spielzeug-Teil 1 **(_The King's Toys-Part 1_)

Touko tried to smile as Concordia entered the room with her breakfast, but it came out more as an awkward grimace. It was the pain medication they were giving her. The drugs were screwing with her muscles and making her feel woozy. She felt like she had just downed a whole bottle of cough syrup. A strange sweetness filled her mouth, and she smacked her lips in an attempt to get rid of it.

There was a tube attached to her arm which led up to a morphine dispenser. Whenever she started hurting, she would press a button and the dispenser would administer a certain amount of morphine into her body, though it would immediately shut down for a while after so that she wouldn't overdose. The sensation was blissful, like lying on a cloud made of fluttering Beautifly. At the same time, it felt like her brain was stuffed with cotton. She didn't like not being able to think clearly, so she usually abstained from using the dispenser.

Concordia wheeled the cart over and removed the lid from the plate, unveiling a dish of eggs, bacon, and perfectly triangular pieces of toast. There was a small jar of bloodred jelly and a cup with butter inside. Concordia spread some of the jelly and butter onto a piece of toast and gave it to Touko to eat first. She grabbed it and took a huge bite.

To her, it felt like a year had passed while she was stuck here, though Concordia assured her that it was only a few months. In the last month, the doctors began getting her to eat and handle things on her own again. Her dexterity was still greatly limited when it came to manipulating things like forks and spoons, but finger foods she was usually okay with. The bones in her fingers were fragile after her fall, and caution was taken whenever she used her hands for something. She could use her thumbs to press or hold things down, but her other fingers were in the process of recovery. Thus, Concordia still had to feed her most foods.

The intimacy of the gesture still surprised her a little. The blonde-haired woman had never shown much emotion, nor had the Shadow Triad. She only punctuated the feeding with occasional comments to keep eating or to stop and wipe away bits of food stuck to the bottom of her lip or to the corner of her mouth. Such actions made Touko feel slightly self-conscious, but she tried to ignore the feeling.

Concordia's food visits were the only deviants in her otherwise dull schedule. She slept as she pleased, taking random siestas whenever she wanted. Unfortunately, this disrupted her sleep routing and and she often spent hours at what she thought was night staring at the ceiling. Her eyes seemed to be perpetually red and puffy; she had once gotten a vague glimpse of her reflection in a bowl of soup. When she ran a hand through her hair, it felt dry and lifeless. The only thing she had to entertain her was the collection of books N had downloaded for her onto the reader. To her horror, she quickly discovered that nearly all of them were romance novels, filled with disgustingly saccharine, cheesy lovemaking scenes between two attractive strangers.

Of course, not all of them were bad. She made her way through _Pride and Prejudice _and _Jane Eyre_ with mild discomfort. _Lolita _was disturbing, to put it lightly, and _50 Shades of Grey _was quite possibly one of the worst things she had ever had the displeasure of reading. Once, she wondered if the placement of the book on the reader reflected on some dark part of N that housed a particularly twisted array of sexual preferences...

The very thought was so revoltingly abhorrent that she shoved it to the very back of her mind and chose not to dwell on it. Ever. For the rest of her life.

She still had nightmares, though, of N coming into her room with a pair of handcuffs and a flog and leaving with a very self-satisfied, "Laters, baby." God, to think that she had worked all the way into page 158 before stopping-

"Miss Touko, you're drooling," Concordia remarked, snapping her out of her reverie. Horrified by what she could have been drooling _about_, Touko quickly snapped her mouth shut and let Touko wipe away the saliva. The woman fed her sliced bits of egg and bacon, and she ate all of it without really paying attention. She and Concordia bantered a bit, talking about mundane subjects.

"What time is it now?"

"About 8:00 in the morning. Have you had trouble sleeping again?"

"Yeah. I keep falling asleep in the middle of the day and then I'm awake at night." Her words came out a little slurred.

"Do you want me to ask whether you can take sleeping pills?"

"No, thanks." There were already enough drugs in her body; she didn't want more. Besides, she had the fear that one of the pills they gave her wouldn't be for the purposes they claimed it was for and would brainwash her or something. Silly, she knew, considering how well they were treating her. However, the thought remained, and it was tricky to dislodge it. The friendliness could be a pretense. She had considered this several times before.

Say it was a pretense; what would she do in such a situation? Should she rebel against their kindness, lash out and let them know that she wasn't buying into it? Or should she be obedient and easy to manage? Both options were risky, and she wasn't sure of which one to choose. _If_ it was a pretense. Big _if _there.

She couldn't discern well between what was real and what was fake. Sure the kindness could be a setup, but it felt genuine. Real. She was surprised by it and not sure of what to do but go along. Team Plasma kept her well-fed and gave her all the essentials for existing, so she was thankful.

But at the same time, kindness did not allow her to condone what they were doing. Her beliefs clashed too strongly with what their beliefs, not allowing for any middle ground. She kept herself in check, but wondered what would happen when they did something she so strongly disagreed with that she raged and fumed and said things she shouldn't say to them. What then? Perhaps they would rip away the kindness and drop her into some cold, moldy cell in the castle's deepest recesses. Fear shot through her and her hand spasmed, accidentally knocking the fork out of Concordia's hand. It clattered to the floor, ringing like a tiny bell.

"I-I'm sorry," she hastily apologized, but Concordia waved it off.

"It's alright," she said, scooping up another piece of egg. "Here you go."

When the meal was over, Concordia cleared away the dishes, setting it all back onto the cart. Touko returned to staring listlessly at her blanket and everything else in the room. She wondered where the music box had gone. Recalling the haunting melody that issued from it, she felt her skin prickle with goosebumps and pulled the covers tightly over herself.

As Concordia was leaving, she suddenly stopped. "There's something else," she noted.

"What?"

"Lord N has decided to visit you today."

At that, Touko sat bolt upright in bed, wincing only a little bit at the ache in her back. This was a major shocker. After nearly three months of leaving her to her own devices, now the king of Team Plasma was visiting her? She couldn't believe it at all. _Three months _without so much dropping by to say hello, and now he was going to see her?

"Um...erm..." She struggled to find the right question to ask, but finally managed to stammer out, "When is he coming?"

"In approximately ten minutes and thirty seconds," said Concordia. "Lord N is a very punctual person. He will be arriving exactly at the last second. Meanwhile, a grunt will come in to help you get ready for his visit.

"Why?" she asked.

"Pardon me?"

"What do I need to get ready for? It isn't as if I," she gestured to her broken legs, "can just put on a fancy dress or anything. I'm confined to the bed."

"I never said that you would be wearing a new outfit."

"Then what?"

Concordia hesitated before she spoke, as if she was trying to choose her words carefully. "The Sages still consider you a threat. They are uncertain of what you will do when allowed direct contact with Lord N. Therefore-"

"Hold on, hold on. Back up just a second. They think that I'm _what_? A _threat_?" Touko hoped that her expression was conveying just as much incredulity was her tone was. "Me? Concordia, just look at me. I can't even walk right now, and they think I'm _dangerous_?"

Continuing as if she hadn't spoken at all, Concordia said, "-precautionary measures must be taken to ensure the safety of our Lord N. The grunt arriving in just a few moments will be here to place shackles around your wrists and secure you to the bed. Any sudden movements are warned against, as your hands have not completely healed and you would be at risk of snapping your wrists again."

Touko was furious. "What the hell? No! I'm not letting myself get chained!"

"I'm afraid you must, Miss Touko. Orders from any one of the Sages are absolute."

"Tell N to reschedule or something, then! I'm not doing it!"

"Lord N has been very busy with his work and wishes to see you when he still has the time. It would be very disappointing should you refuse."

"But I can refuse, can't I?" She glared triumphantly at Concordia. "This isn't an order or anything. I still have my free will. I can turn him down if I want. There's no way I'm letting myself get tied to the bed just to please his...kinky sexual desires. No way." She folded her arms stubbornly. "You can tell N to leave me a-"

Concordia froze her with a look. The woman's face was ashen. "Do not ever insult our king like that again, Miss Touko," she said in a voice as brittle as ice. "Allow me to inform you that while you remain in this castle, you are subject to the whim of Team Plasma. Lord N's orders are absolute, as are those of the Sages. If security measures must be taken to ensure the safety of our king, they will. If Lord N wishes to visit you, he will do so. Failure to obey orders will result in some nasty consequences for you. You should be thankful for the generosity Lord N has given you." Concordia's eyes were icy. "Few receive such luxuries. Consider yourself lucky to be within Lord N's circle. Otherwise, you would have received less comfortable accomodations."

Her words struck a chord within Touko. Yes, so it was only because of N that she was being treated this way. She hadn't really suspected anything else. Ghetsis was probably the who opposed her staying in the castle the most. She wondered who else resented her stay. The other grunts, maybe, and upon hearing the bitterness in Concordia's voice, she guessed that the blonde woman wished her gone as well.

The results were disheartening. Everyone wanted her gone, and it was only N's power as the king that prevented this from happening. Should he be elsewhere when she was in the wrong place at the wrong time...

She shuddered to think of what they would do to her. Execution? More imprisonment in drearier conditions?

Her lip quivered. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I really am."

Concordia showed no sign that she had heard her apology or that she cared. There was an odd sound, like tearing paper, and a female grunt walked into the room. She was dressed differently from the other grunts Touko saw in Pinwheel Forest, the Nacrene Museum, and various other places during her journey. The woman wore an elegant gray-black suit. Her brown hair was tied into a sharp, almost severe-looking ponytail. Dangling from her waist were a pair of cuffs without a linking chain between them. She glanced at Concordia as if for confirmation, and the blonde woman nodded.

Striding towards Touko's bed with clicks from her heels punctuating each step, she deftly took Touko's hands and fastened the cuffs around them. As soon as they locked into place, lengths of greenish light shot from two small circular openings near the sides and coiled around the bed's armrests. She found her wrists moving of their own accord. Slowly, inexorably, the cuffs touched the glowing light and stuck there. She tried to tug her wrists free, but they would not move.

"The cuffs are magnetized," Concordia explained. Her voice adopted a sadder tone as she said, "I apologize for hurting you."

Before leaving, the grunt whispered to Touko, "Bitch."

Shocked, she stared at the sharp-faced brunette, but the woman had already left. Concordia cast on last look at Touko and walked out with her. Touko was left alone as she waited for N.

[/ / /]

Her arms were already numb by the time he arrived. She heard the peculiar paper-ripping noise again and sat up with a start, blinking.

He had grown since she last saw him. He now towered half a head over her, a fact she realized even though she couldn't stand to compare her height with him. His hair was still as messy as ever, though, tied back with a piece of green ribbon adorned with a tiny jade sphere. His attire, which consisted of a white flannel shirt, jeans, and black shoes, was more formal than before but was still casual. And he had a Menger sponge with him.

"It's a shape with infinite surface area and also encloses zero volume at the same time," he once told her. She remembered how his eyes gleamed as he spoke, how animated he was. "It's a bit of a paradox, isn't it, being infinite and empty all at once. I like to think of human nature that way. You know, I kind of wish there was some sort of formula for that kind of thing." In her mind, he laughed. "It would make it so much easier to understand why people do the things that they do. Can you imagine that? If we could find some kind of God formula to calculate emotions and whatnot, we could know a lot more about humans as a whole."

"What about Pokémon?" she asked him.

"Not them," he responded, a thoughtful look on his face. "They're completely different from us humans. Purer, in a way. They do fight each other, and sometimes kill, but only to survive. We kill because it is only our nature. That's different from survival, Touko. The formula wouldn't be applicable to them because their way of thinking is kinder than ours. It's a bit of a stretch, but that's what I think."

_What now, N?_ she thought. _Is this the closest you can get to your God formula? 'Liberation?' Is that really how you believe you can see the hearts of Pokémon? _

He stopped next to her and looked at the cuffs restraining her wrists. Chewing on his lower lip, he seemed to think something through for a few seconds. Then he undid her cuffs, unlatching them with a single swift movement. The polarizing beams of light faded and she lifted her hands out of them.

"Why?" she asked.

He shook his head. "I'm not entirely comfortable with the concept of you being...a prisoner. I'd like to think of you more as a guest, and so I'll treat you like one. After all, they can't get you in trouble if I'm the one who released you from your handcuffs."

She rubbed her wrists, were tight red bands of skin still showed. "Thanks," Touko mumbled.

N gave her a soft smile. It was almost rueful. "Not a problem."

They remained in silence for a while, both of them too awkward to speak any more. Time and the circumstances had created a small barrier between them that hadn't yet dissolved. She remembered how freely she used to speak to him, how she practically poured out her life to N on a hill, on a park bench, even at night in the Nimbasa City Ferris wheel. He was a good listener, but the answers he gave about his life were few and far between. At the time, it hurt her a little. Now, she did not care.

She watched him as he drew up a beanbag to sit next to her. He was so tall that his head nearly reached her waist, even though he was sitting down. Through the thin shirt, she could see as the muscles in his back flexed. He was sinewy and long-limbed, but far from gangly. She decided that he was like a Liepard, a predatory creature.

He sat down and they continued to remain quiet. Eventually, he reached for her hand and grasped it in his thin fingers. She expected it to hurt, but he was delicate with her, treating her almost as a precious thing. She had not expected this from N. She did not feel precious; she only felt lonely.

"Have they been treating you well?" he asked her.

"Fine," she replied. "I always have enough to eat. The food's really good."

He grinned. "It is, isn't it? Anthea and Concordia are marvelous cooks. They don't cater to all of Team Plasma, of course; we have other cooks to help them. Still, their food is in a class of its own. Have you had a quiche yet?"

"Yeah." She recalled the buttery taste of the quiche in her mouth, the way it melted on her tongue. Spinach and cheese and eggs. Simple, but delicious.

"Good, wasn't it?"

"Definitely."

He stood up, rising to his full height. He placed his other hand over hers and smiled. "You see, everything you need is here. You will never be hungry a day in your life. The grunts will come to serve you and exact your will, whatever it may be. In this castle, you can be nobility."

_I don't care about nobility__! _she wanted to scream. _I want my mom! I want Cheren, and Bianca, and my team back! I want to go home; that's all I really want. Not to be trapped in this castle, not with you. I think I'll go insane whenever I see your face. You're pulling me apart, N._

His hands were smooth and unblemished. They looked odd against her hands, with their dirty fingernails and dry skin. She marveled at how his fingernails were cut into perfect crescents.

"Do you need anything, Touko?" he asked, his voice pleading for even a small chance at redemption. "Anything you want, I can give it to you."

Anything she wanted? Her mind felt overwhelmed by the possibilites. There was one thing that she knew she really wanted, though. To see her team again, to see them well-rested and in good shape. She hadn't seen them in so long. Almost three months.

"Can I..."

"Yes? Tell me, Touko. Anything." The way he said it, it was as if he was asking for something, not her.

"My Pokémon, N," she told him. "My team. Can I see them?"

"Is that it?" He seemed slightly relieved.

"Yeah, I guess. So can I? Please?"

"Of course. Hold on for just a moment, Touko." He walked past her, behind the bed, and clapped three times. She heard him conversing with someone, presumably a grunt. The grunt left and it was just the two of them. Then, several minutes later, she heard him speaking again and strained her ears as the grunt handed something over. It sounded heavy.

N returned with a tray in hand. There were six depressions in the metal tray, and a single Pokéball sat in each one.

"Here you go," he said, handing the tray over. She took it eagerly, running her hands over the smooth steel and the plastic of the red-and-white orbs nestled on top. She took one of the Pokéballs at random and tossed it into the air.

Opening on a seam, the ball spurted out a jet of clear light that coalesced into a familiar form: her Reuniclus. Squealing happily when it saw her, the jelly-like creature rushed over to Touko to wrap her in a hug. She laughed as Reuniclus' squishy skin tickled her.

"Ryuuuunniiii!" it chirped, grinning brightly at her.

"Haha! It's nice to see you, too!" she giggled, its massive palms clasping her own. She felt elated, far better than she had felt in weeks. To be reunited with her Pokémon was a marvelous thing. She felt energized and alive again; a whole person. The incompleteness left by her team's void was being filled again. She never realized how close she and her team had grown until now. She couldn't stop the mirth bubbling up in her; her joy was contagious, translating to N's features in a wide smile.

"Your Reuniclus is very happy to see you again," he remarked, eyes shining brightly. She was sure that her eyes looked the same. And she didn't need him to tell her how her Pokémon felt; she could see it in Reuniclus herself as it danced around the room, twirling in the air on its psychic powers and whistling cheerily.

One by one, she called them all out. Besides Reuniclus, there was her Swoobat, Gigalith, Simisear, and Zebstrika. Happy emotions permeated the room as they all embraced her in their own way and she responded in kind. Even Gigalith, who normally displayed little emotion, nudged her affectionately with his rough head. She rubbed the crystals growing along his back and beamed.

Touko noticed something was off when Zebstrika reared back its head to discharge electrical fireworks from its horn in celebration and only sparks came out. The equinine Pokémon looked as confused as she was, pawing the ground and shaking its head back and forth which only succeeded in producing more sparks.

"Zebstrika, use Flash," she commanded it. Zebstrika closed its eyes and the stripes along its body began to shine, but the light died out in seconds, leaving her thoroughly puzzled as to what was going on. Her other Pokémon were the same.

"What's wrong with them?" she asked, wringing the blanket in nervousness. What if they were sick or still hurt? She was horrified to think that they were perhaps permanently disabled to some extent and they would never recover from it ever again. N quickly soothed her fears, looking bashful as he did so.

"They've been Disabled," he said. At her frightened expression, he hastily explained, "I mean that they've had the move Disable used on them. The effects are quite powerful and only dispel when the affected Pokémon are released outside, since the Pokéball keeps them in stasis, status effects and all. Ghetsis insisted on it as a matter of protection. It'll wear off in another day or so."

Exhaling in relief, Touko stroked her Zebstrika's somewhat bristly mane. It rewarded her by licking her on the cheek. She chuckled at the feel of its tongue and patted it on the head. At this, her other Pokémon clamored forward, eager to receive more gestures of affection from her.

"Alright, alright, guys," she laughed. "I love you all, I really do."

A chorus of cheers met her answer. N stood next to her, smiling benignly.

"Where's Zekrom?" she asked him.

N's face seemed to cloud over. "The dragon has reverted to his form as the Dark Stone. We've been unable to draw him out of his sleep, despite some of our best scientists working on it for weeks. Even when I tried to speak with him to coax him out, I couldn't hear anything. There was...a void, of sorts. That's the only way I can describe it. I think he's withdrawn to heal himself, or maybe it's a type of spiritual meditation. Who knows?" He shrugged his shoulders. "When it comes to the two dragons, even I can't completely fathom why they do what they do."

She nodded, satisfied with his explanation. She knew that something happened to the dragon, but she didn't think that Zekrom would withdraw again. After centuries, even millennia, of sleep, why would it want to revert to its dormant state? When she was linked with Zekrom, she saw the dragon's thoughts just as he saw hers, and she saw that he was hungry. Not for power, not for blood, but for freedom. Confined so long to being a simple black orb, it longed to exist as it once was: a mighty black dragon whose arrival was heralded by skies full of thunder and lightning. The deity hated being powerless more than anything, yet it chose sleep? She was questioning of the dragon's decision, but there was nothing she could do. It would only emerge when it chose to, and nothing Team Plasma could do would wake it up.

There was only one Pokéball left on the tray, and she knew which Pokémon was housed inside it. Her beloved Samurott, the starter with whom she had shared most of her journey across Unova. Back when it was a tiny Oshawott, it was already as determined as she was to conquer all the Gyms and eventually reach the pinnacle of trainerdom: the Pokémon League. When she faced off against the Elite Four, it was Samurott who had been leading the charge. One by one, she defeated each of the Elite Four members until only N was left. Though she clearly hadn't won, her loss didn't matter. At least, not now. She tossed the orb up, and it opened up-

-and clattered to the floor, empty.

She stared at it, stunned. Then she looked at N. "I don't understand," she said, her words coming out in a jumbled babble. "Why is it empty, my Samurott should be inside, did you misplace anything? N?"

His face had darkened even more, and she felt afraid. Not for herself, but what he would say. A lurking suspicion formed in her brain and refused to leave. The anticipation was putting her nerves on edge.

"Well? Where is my Samurott?" Her eyes were wide and worried.

"I...agh." N drew in a sharp breath and let it out. "I don't know how to say this, but..."

The suspicion became full-fledged fear. Oh Arceus, she hoped that he wasn't going to say what she thought he would-

"...I'm afraid that your Samurott is dead."

She stared at him, uncomprehending. Her frown turned into a grin and then she belted out crazed, manic laughter. "That-you can't-you're joking, right? Haha! You're just kidding? Now, where's Samurott?"

"Touko, Samurott has passed away. It's deceased, gone, whatever you want to call it. You can't see it because _it is no longer alive_." He stressed the last five words, every utterance filled with anguish. "I'm so sorry."

She kept staring. It was as if someone had taken a hammer blow to her stomach, like she was in freefall again, tumbling from Zekrom's back and the heavens to land on her body and smash all her insides. Her entire frame trembled violently as silent tears coursed down her cheeks.

"I...I'm sorry, Touko. I'm so sorry. I know it was my fault-I was the one who attacked. I don't know how I'll ever be able to make it up to you, or how you'll ever find it in you to forgive me, but..." He held onto her shoulder, tears brimming in his eyes too. "...I want to apologize. I'm really sorry."

She cried and cried, her tears turning into sobbing and then pained, tortured wails. She mourned for her lost starter, and her other Pokémon mourned with her. Reuniclus bawled, as did Swoobat and Simisear. Gigalith and Zebstrika inclined their heads in respect to their fallen team member.

"Please, Touko." N's voice was desperate.

"I don't want your apologies," she said, eyes wet. "I just want to go back home and see everyone again." She bit down hard on her tongue, refusing to let any more tears show. "Is that too much to ask?"

Concerned, N reached and wiped away a tear on her cheek. "Are you alright?"

"Please," she begged him. "Please, just let me go. I can't do this anymore. I just-I..." She drew in a ragged breath that rattled on its way down.

His eyes were unreadable as he answered, "I'm sorry, Touko. I can't do that for you."

"Why?" she cried. "You can help me escape. You owe it to me. Please, just let me go home!"

"That is impossible," he told her.

"Why _not_?!"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "It's probably not in my place to say..."

"Tell me!" Her eyes, though rimmed with tears, were now angry. "If you intend to keep me here, I deserve an explanation! This can't some arbitrary decision, N! You owe it to our fr-our _past _friendship to tell me why you can't do it."

Hurt flashed on his face when she amended her choice of words to include _past_ in her demand. She quite nearly took it back, but decided not to until he explained what was going on.

"You see, it's rather complicated."

"It's not."

"Actually, it is, Touko." He heaved another great sigh. "Anyone who is not a member of Team Plasma who enters this castle is under Team Plasma's jurisdiction and is prohibited from leaving. Ghetsis doesn't want any non-Plasma members leaving because he doesn't want them to find out certain unpleasant secrets. You, of course, won't be exposed to any of that sort of stuff. But say you did. Where would you go? Would you tell the police about our plans? We can't trust you, so we can't let you leave. I'm very sorry for this."

"But I won't tell anyone!" she said, knowing full well that she would probably go back on her promise if given the chance. "I'm crippled! I can't do anything, and like you said, I don't even know any incriminating information about you people!"

"Just now, I did tell you that there _was _certain information you could potentially access, so you know that we have some secrets we would like to keep hidden. Therefore, you know that have some things that we need to hide, so you are now fully subject to the permanent restriction regarding classified information. Meaning, whereas you might have had a chance to be set free before, you are now bound by your unfortunate question to remain inside the castle forever." He looked sadly at her.

It took a while for his words to sink in. By asking why she was being imprisoned, N had seized upon the opportunity to reveal that Team Plasma _was _hiding something. And by asking to hear his answer, out of her own free will she had bound herself under some previously unknown oath to remain a prisoner because she now knew classified information. Though they weren't the specifics, she did _know _that there were secrets, and that she had been duped into fastening the lock around her freedom. Had she known what she would ask? Of course he did. And he had used her curiosity against her, giving them a reason to keep her locked up. Just by _knowing_, she was...

"Do you understand what I'm saying now, Touko? You have heard a secret. That secret will now keep you here for the rest of your days." Somehow, he managed to meet her gaze. When he did, his eyes were pained. "You are now officially forbidden from leaving the castle, except under orders from myself or the unanimous body of the Seven Sages."

"You...you...you tricked me!" she screamed. "I hate you! _I hate you_!"

"Touko, please, you have to understand-" But he never got a chance to finish what he was going to say. Touko seized her pillow and threw it at him, nailing him in the face. Though didn't hurt him physically, emotionally, he was distraught.

"You knew!" she shouted. "You knew all along and you used it to your advantage! Did Ghetsis put you up to it? Or are you so greedy for power that you did it of your own free will? _Tell me_, _N_!"

She burst into tears again, burying her head in her lap. "I can't do it! I can't _fucking do it_!" she shrieked, a mixture of despair and rage.

N reached for her, but she slapped his hand away so viciously that he recoiled, face contorting into an expression of pain.

"Go away!" she yelled, her eyelashes glistening with all of her tears. "Just go away!"

"I'm sorry."

Her tears tasted like salt. They were bitter and stung her throat. She paid no attention as N wordlessly recalled her team, said nothing as her Pokémon gazed at her sadly. They wept for Samurott, and also for her, their master. When he left, taking her team with her, she turned her eyes to the ceiling and screamed, "_Burn in hell_!"

Following this exclamation, fresh tears returned. She cried until the pain was just an awful coldness in her, a passing thing that she could easily ignore. Somehow, the numbness was even more painful than the sadness itself. The sadness was visceral and hot, like fire. The numbness was freezing and chilled her to very core.

No matter how much she tossed and turned, she could not get warm. She simply stared at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere she could turn her head. Night fell and the lights in her room automatically shut off, but she did not sleep. She couldn't find sleep. She just gazed blankly at nothing in general, her eyes maddened and ringed with dark circles.

She looked like she was very far gone.

[. . .]

Today was a cold day.

Cheren Tsukioka shivered under his jacket and rubbed his hands together for warmth. It was winter in Driftveil, and the chill had just set in a few days ago. He had on a scarf and a thick woolen cap, but they seemed to do little when it came to staving off the cold. To make it worse, a heavy mist layered the entire city. The fog limited visibility and left freezing little droplets on his skin when he walked through it-which was basically everywhere he went that was outdoors. To call the weather gloomy would be an inadequate description; miserable or depressing would be more fitting.

Only flashlight beams and the ray of the light from the lightouse could shear through the grayness. The conditions were so dismal that Cheren pictured himself in some sort of oubliette; a parallel world where Driftveil was murky and the residents were transformed into terrifying monsters. However, such a thought was irrational and distracted him from the task he was currently occupied with: patrolling the borders of the city on the lookout for Team Plasma.

It had been two months, going on three, since N defeated Touko and the plunged the world into turmoil. Everywhere on the news there were new reports of cities in a state of anarchy, where the residents and Team Plasma engaged each other in a brutal power struggle until one side came out on top. Unfortunately, the winning side was usually Team Plasma. The cities that were taken were rendered Pokémon-free zones, and the act of training a Pokémon or engaging in trainer activities was considered an attempt at terrorism and immediately met with severe punishment, such as imprisonment or execution. More often than not, execution was used until the people realized what would happen should they continue and quietly reformed, letting themselves become compliant in accordance with Plasma's rules.

He had only come to the city three weeks ago. Unable to enter the castle to participate in the battle when the bridges retracted, his only option had been to fly back to the cities and aid Bianca in soliciting the help of the Gym Leaders. Alder stayed behind, attempting to break through the castle's sturdy outer walls with the help of his Pokémon to no avail.

By the time he reached Mistralton City, the news had come: Touko White was defeated by Team Plasma's king, N. The news had sent a flurry of emotions rushing through him in a chaotic, disorderly jumble. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. _Touko_, of all people, had lost to the pathetic green-haired weirdo who inexplicably popped up in the most bizarre locations? Everyone else in the airport watching the news report seemed as shocked as he was. There were camera crews stationed outside the perimeter of the castle recording carefully as N alighted from the building atop Reshiram, holding Touko's battered bloodstained cap and the Dark Stone. He knew that N was speaking the truth when he saw the stone. If Zekrom had reverted to its dormant state, that really meant that things were bad.

Disillusioned, he stayed in Mistralton for another day before packing up his belongings and heading into Chargestone Cave, where he wandered aimlessly for several hours before finally crossing through the exit and making his way back into Driftveil City. Clay was waiting for him, a knowing frown on his face.

"Boy, what the devil have you been up to?" the Gym Leader had asked him. When Cheren gave no answer, Clay shrugged and took him into the Gym so that he could wash off all the dirt and grit encrusted to his skin and find a place to rest. He did just that, obeying orders in a distinctly zombified fashion.

Clay tried to rehabilitate him, get him back into the groove of things with some manual labor. At first, he helped the other trainers in the gym with the maintenance of the building and ran various mundane errands. When they showed another news report, this one narrated by a Plasma grunt and showing the destruction in Nimbasa City, he had switched his role from that of errand boy to taskmaster, whipping the gym's trainers into better shape. Clay told him that the fight was coming to their borders and by no means would he come quietly and let the 'Plasma jackasses' do what they wanted.

Although such an extreme declaration appeared overly paranoid, Clay's reasons were reinforced by the things going on one city over. Even though it took nearly a month, Nimbasa City finally fell to an attack led by one of the Seven Sages. This meant that Driftveil City was most likely next on their hit list. Clay wasn't about to back down without a fight, however. That was why they were out patrolling this early in the morning: there were reports that Team Plasma was sighted in various locations near the city. Clay guessed that they were probably going to move in quite soon, and that it would do everyone good to be ready.

They all trained, going through a harsh regime of exercises Clay insisted would strengthen their bodies and those of their Pokémon, making them all tip-top in terms of performance. It was awkward, being in charge of training all these people, especially since many of the trainers were older than him and probably had more experience than he did. They were indignant at being taught by a child. As the days passed, though, they began to develop a grudging respect for his training methods and his skills. The day came when they finally thought of him as an equal.

There were young kids who came to the training sessions. They were allowed in, but only to watch. Their parents forbade them from engaging in the actual training, fearing all manner of unlucky occurrences that should befall their dear children. He knew that some of them snuck away to nearby routes and trained there, emulating what they saw the older trainers doing during the sessions. He did nothing to stop it. Even Clay seemed not to mind when he told them about the covert battles.

"Let 'em do what they want," the Gym Leader responded in his gruff, baritone voice. "There ain't no rule sayin' they can't, right? That's what they would've been doin', if it weren't for that damned Team Plasma stirrin' up trouble."

Patrols were run regularly in the weeks leading up to the expected battle. He and several other trainers were on high alert for any sign of Team Plasma. Any suspicious signs were to be reported to Clay or one of his second-in-command Ace trainers. However, it was difficult to see anything in this abysmal fog.

It was rather ironic about Team Plasma, he thought. They had completely dropped their pretense as some sort of peaceful liberation group and were now resorting to full-on terrorism against the populace. Bombings. Attacks on civilians and whatnot. The pacifist guise that many of their supporters knew was gone. In its place was a savage, monstrous thing that he felt disgusted with. If they were going to lie, they might as well follow through. He wondered what their supporters were thinking now, when death tolls were on the rise and Team Plasma sank deeper and deeper into an ever-growing pool of carnage.

Next to him, his Simipour stood at attention, warming the chilly air around it with its natural heightened body heat. The simian dropped to all fours as a foghorn sounded and growled nervously. Cheren gave it a reassuring pat on the back.

"It'll be fine," he said. "I don't think they're coming today. We're just being extra cautious."

"Simiiiii," Simisear replied, which was more or less its way of agreeing with him. Cheren smiled and continued to stare out into the fog. Man, it was really thick.

After four minutes passed, he heard footsteps behind him crunching on the ice-crusted grass. Swiveling around, he and Simisear turned to face a young boy and a Galvantula. The yellow arachnid chittered in worry, absently releasing small sparks of electricity from its body.

"Alec?" Cheren asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

The boy gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I'm here to help you guys defend the city. I've gotta do something; I can't just sit around while you and the other adults fight."

"Oh, no you aren't." Firmly, Cheren planted his hands on the boy's arms and led him away from the edge of the water. "You're way too young to be participating in stuff like this. Does your mom even know that you're out here?"

"Yeah," Alec answered defiantly. "She gave me permission to go."

"Somehow, I doubt that." This was not the first occasion Alec had snuck out to 'help' Cheren and everyone else on their routine patrols. These excursions were invariably followed by a frantic search by Alec's parents for their missing son and culminated in a very public scolding that left Alec's ears bright red. His Galvantula was just as intimated as his trainer was. After Alec's last escape, his mother had grounded him and forbidden any contact with the Ace trainers.

"Leave me alone, Cheren!" Alec shrugged off Cheren's grip and glowered at him. "I'm old enough to fight. I'm a pretty good trainer, too. Just watch me!"

Cheren sighed and rubbed his temples. Why must Alec always be this difficult? "It isn't that I doubt your training skills-"

"What is it, then?"

"It's that you're inexperienced in this type of combat. This isn't some nice little training match where everyone comes out a bit battered but ultimately safe and sound." Cheren threw his hands up for emphasis. "Haven't you heard the news reports? Do you know what Team Plasma does to the people they beat?"

Alec continued to glare, but Cheren detected a slight tremble in his lip. "Yeah, I know. I'm not some dumb kid."

"Then you're aware of the consequences. You know that they might take your Galvantula away and you'll never see it again. They might even kill you."

Alec's fists shook. Worriedly, Galvantula nudged the boy with one of its legs, its eyes staring up at Alec in alarm.

"And you're still prepared to face against those kinds of people? They don't hold anything back, not even because you're a kid. They'll skin you alive, Alec. They're evil."

"So?" the boy retorted. "Just because of that, I'm supposed to back down? That's being a scaredy-cat. I'm not that kind of person."

"It's called _self-preservation_, Alec," Cheren said, quite annoyed. "There is a difference between throwing yourself into the fray without any knowledge of what will happen and being mature enough to handle it. Alec, just go back home."

"You're a kid too!" Alec shouted. "So you're being a hypocrite. How come you get to fight, then?"

"Because I've dealt with these people before, and I know how to deal with them again."

"You think you're the only one? You're wrong!" Alec's tiny frame quivered. "They took my Pokémon, you know. When Team Plasma came to this city, they took a lot of our friends. And you know what I did?"

Cheren said nothing, only listened for the boy to give his answer.

"I fought them," Alec spat. "I helped take back Galvantula and all the other ones that got taken away. They're coming back to have another go at us. I get that. But do you know what I'm gonna do?"

"What are you going to do, Alec?"

"I'll fight them with every last bit of strength I have in me," he said. His voice possessed a fierce determination of its own. "I'll take all those Plasma jerks down, and I'll die if I have to."

"Alec," Cheren began, but was interrupted by someone to his right.

"Brave words," the stranger said, stepping out of the mist into better view. A dark-haired, grizzled man accompanied by a Krookodile stared at them gravely.

"Jeff?" said Cheren. "What are you doing here?"

"I came here to tell you that Clay needs you in the Gym to discuss some things. Pronto." He looked at Alec. "Boy, you say you wanna fight?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Well, you can take over Cheren's patrol while he talks with Clay. Think ya can handle that, pint-size?"

"You bet, sir!" Alec said, beaming widely.

"C'mon," Jeff said, beckoning Cheren with a hand. Following, they wound through a curved street until they reached the Gym.

A guard named Keith was posted outside. He nodded as Jeff and Cheren entered, the door closing shut behind them.

Inside, Cheren found Clay and several others huddled around a table strewn with papers. The general atmosphere was that of tension. Everyone assembled here was fraught with exhaustion. Several men and women were sipping from cups of coffee and tossing them carelessly onto the floor when they were empty. The trash bins were already full of discarded cups.

"Good ta see ya, boy," Clay said as Cheren entered. "C'mere and tell me what ya think of this."

Walking over, Cheren examined a map Clay was pointing to. Various points were labeled with letters to designate where certain trainers should go. The map was a detailed depiction of Driftveil City, showing the city's outskirts, dock, and even the Driftveil Drawbridge. Following where Clay was pointing, Cheren's eyes fell upon the drawbridge, which had been marked with ten x's.

"What are the x's for?" he asked.

Clay grinned. "Glad ya were wonderin'." He gestured at the bridge. "That's gonna be one of the main entryways Team Plasma will be aimin' ta use get ta us. Now, we can utilize that reliance to our advantage. The x's? They're just a couple of bombs I rigged up. Usually for some of the heavier mining digs, but I thought, what the hell. Those babies are packing a fine supply of dynamite and other explosives. There's a lighter that will trigger the fuse that'll blow 'em up inside each one. When I press a certain button, the whole bridge will go boom and the Team Plasma dumbasses unlucky enough to be on the bridge when the bombs detonate will go boom with it."

"Isn't that a bit dangerous, though?" Cheren asked. "What if there are civilians on the bridge?"

"You not hear the news, boy? What kind of fool would be out there at this hour? Not to mention Nimbasa is on lockdown; no one's goin' in or out. You tell me: how would anyone get out there?"

"People from Driftveil?"

"Nope. I've ordered everyone into their homes and enforced a strict curfew. We'll have some of our trainers watching the streets and makin' sure everyone stays inside. There's a barricade around the entrance to the bridge, too. Some of my guys set it up a few days ago. Ain't a chance anyone'll be on the bridge. Anyone with common sense will stay home."

"So basically, we have to be watching out for the people without common sense."

"That'll be Team Plasma who gets a nice big surprise." Clay chortled darkly. "Not only do we take a whole lot of 'em out, we destroy the bridge and prevent 'em from using it anymore. Like killin' two Pidgey with one stone."

"How about the other letters? The a's, the b's, and the c's? What are those for?"

"Formations, of course. We gotta set up a proper defense, make sure all the vital locations are secured. I figure we'd best allocate our resources in the most efficient way, guard what needs to be guarded most and leave the nonessentials for later. The Center's one of 'em. We need that, and the market, too. That's where most of the food is."

"You're storing food there?"

"We got secret silos built underneath. Used to be an old warehouse there before it got torn down and the market put in its place. The silos are still functional. Big, sturdy metal things. They'll keep the food safe. We got lots of nonperishables if we make it out and find our shipments blocked. Knowin' Team Plasma, that's what they'll do: try and starve us out like they did to Nimbasa." Clay shook his head with something like regret. "Poor Elesa. She just got dealt a bad hand of cards is all. She didn't know they were comin' for her, had no time to prepare."

"So what kind of formations did you have in mind?"

"You see the a's?" There were four aptly named letters scattered in various locations in the city: around the Center, around the market, and two groups surrounding the cold storage. "Those groups are mainly defensive. They'll fight only if need be, and the won't be leavin' their spots. Not for anything. Jeff will be in charge of them. The a's are probably some of our most important fighters, 'cause their guardin' some of the most important locations in the city. The last line of defense when the shit hits the fan.

"The b's," he indicated the b's and several arrows drawn to the wharf, "are our offensive guys. They'll intercept Team Plasma at the docks and fight 'em so that the a's can stay where they are. If need be, they'll split up into two groups of twenty-five people and catch the other places where Team Plasma lands. The c's are backup. If the a's get taken out, the c's will come in and continue the fight without any stop in between. They aren't to do so until I give the orders. Until then, they'll help guard some of the other places I've marked, like the Gym. Ya might call 'em the in-between. Hopefully, we won't have much use for them on the battlefield."

"I get it," Cheren said. "You're spreading them out so they can't be clustered together and taken out in one blow."

"Correct, boy," said Clay, a twinkle in his eye. "Smart, aincha? That's exactly it."

"What if they're spread too thin, though? Won't it be easier to take them out?"

Rubbing his chin in contemplation, Clay answered, "A good point, and one the others already brought up with me. All the groups are divided into fairly even numbers, usually fifteen to twenty people defending each location. The brunt of our fighters will be concentrated into group a, because that's where I'm hopin' to cut off Team Plasma's attack so we won't have to use group c."

"The civilians. What will they do if Team Plasma goes to their houses?"

"Storm shelters. Every family in Driftveil has one just in case, since tornado season is prevalent in our area. They know the drill. I'll broadcast a warning and they'll be tuned in with their radios to catch it. Once they hear the go-ahead, they'll get inside their shelters and stay there until the storm passes. Everyone keeps their shelters well-stocked with food, and they've got batteries and other bits to keep anything electric running that they need running."

Cheren chewed on his lip. "Seems like you've already thought this out well."

"I have to, don't I? It's my city we're talkin' about, here."

Regarding Cheren solemnly, Clay said, "I trust you, Cheren. I trust you a lot. You and Touko really proved yourself to me back in the Cold Storage. That's why I'm countin' on you to lead the city's defense."

"What about you?"

"I'm leadin' too, of course. I've been thinkin', though. This whole damn fiasco has got me thinkin' real hard." Clay took off his hat and stared into space for a few seconds. "I'm pretty old, Cheren. One of the oldest Gym Leaders in the region. In my life, I've made a lot of decisions, not all of them good ones. I do regret the bad ones, and I'm hopin' to redeem some of that by fighting off Team Plasma and keepin' Driftveil safe. But I could die." He chuckled, prompting Cheren to wonder if the Gym Leader was more eccentric than he appeared to be. "Ya hear that? I could die anytime during the battle. And if I do, it'll be your job to make sure the men keep fightin' and keepin' those Plasma bastards out of my city. Ya got that?"

"I can't, Clay. I'm not a good leader."

"Sure ya are, boy!" Clay clapped Cheren on the back. "I've seen how you manage yourself in your battles, and I gotta say, you've got finesse. You take the time to think things through, unlike what some people do. You like to weigh all the options before makin' your choice. I know you'll be smart enough to choose wisely and lead us through this. That's why I'm makin' you my successor."

"W-what?" This was such a complete turn of events, Cheren didn't quite know what to say.

"Jeff, Keith, they're all good men. I got nothing against them. I respect them. However, you're the one I have the most faith in. You're a natural tactitian, Cheren. I know you can take this city to victory."

"What if I can't though?" Cheren glared at Clay angrily. "You shouldn't leave this all to me. Let Jeff lead us, then. He's more experienced than I am."

"Experience isn't always everything. Sometimes it's the power of youth that's most important in a time of crisis." Clay snorted. "Even an old-timer like me can admit that. So go out there, Cheren. Show 'em what you got."

"Clay!" Both Cheren and Clay turned in the sound of the voice. Keith was running towards them, brow creased.

"What is it?" Clay demanded.

"Team Plasma. They're here, just like you said they would be. They're on the move already, and they're coming on the water, too."

"Son of a gun," Clay muttered, hurrying out the door. Cheren followed close behind, unsure of what to do.

The skies seemed grayer than ever. The mist had cleared somewhat, but now heavy spears of forked lightning flashed through the gray clouds, bringing with them resounding claps of thunder. Heavy rain poured down, obscuring their visibility as much as the mist had done.

Keith handed Clay a pair of binoculars. Peering through them for a moment, he swore and handed them to Cheren, who honed in on the bridge. Indeed, he could see a formation of Plasma grunts marching towards the city, bearing the familiar black-and-white flags with Plasma's insignia.

"You sure those bombs will work?" asked Cheren.

"Oh, I'm sure," Clay said, tone dark. "I'm damn sure."

"Then why aren't you using them yet? They're getting closer," said Cheren, alarmed by the progression of grunts.

Clay held up an impatient hand. "Patience, boy, patience. Not everything's about rushing. Biding your time and waiting for the right opportunity is smarter than charging at 'em like a fool. We just gotta wait."

The grunts marched on.

"Closer, closer..."

Cheren chewed on the inside of his lip as they continued to approach. He could practically hear their footsteps now, see the fires raging through the city-

"Now!"

Whipping a slim device from his pocket, Clay pressed a square red button in the middle. Immediately, there was a roaring noise as the bridge and the bombs attached to it detonated in a series of magnificent explosions. Fireballs blossomed and sent geysers of flame spurting up into the air where they were doused by the rainfall. Warped steel rained from the sky and into the waters below, landing with heavy splashes. The water sizzled as the debris fell, plumes of steam rising off of the surface. The grunts that had occupied the bridge were nowhere to be found.

Clay pumped his fist. "Woohoo!" he shouted. "Now that's what I call an explosion!" His smile was far too gleeful under the circumstances.

"What now?" asked Cheren, watching as a fleet of small speedboats approached the docks. He shifted his glasses up, watching as his breath fogged up. It was so cold, and so quiet. So calm.

A gentle pause before the tornado struck.

"Now?" Clay replied with a grin. "We fight."


	5. Chapter 4: Des Königs Spielzeug-Teil 2

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys! There will be minimal Touko/N POVs this chapter. Instead, it will be almost entirely written from Cheren's POV. This is the epic battle chapter. :) I've drawn stylistic influences from 50caliberchaos' /The Sun Soul/ and from L. Lamora's /The Game of Champions/ when it came to writing the fight scenes. Hope you enjoy, and don't forget to R&R.**

**Also, thanks to: _AldrutheBrovahkiin, Miss Optimism, ReadWriteLove715, gaeiaangelis, Anxa, HitsuHinalover, darkviola, Haine-chan, Guest, DemosthenesLocke101, zephyrwindstorm8, TheEighthHeapChild, The Light's Refrain, TwinSunsOfMars, _and _Natikan_ for reviewing, as well as all the new favoriters/followers! **

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"Interpret the eyes as they die; should I cry? Should I lie? Your poor lashes blow.  
Victim of sensory love, you cry out in the war, an innocent call."

-Sia Furler, "Kill and Run"

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**CHAPTER 4: Des Königs Spielzeug-Teil 2 **(_The King's Toys-Part 2_)

She was in another nightmare.

In it, she saw herself standing on a pedestal atop which she could see the entire world. N faced off against her from a pedestal opposite her own, his messy green hair whipping around his face. They were so far above the ground that the clouds were but insignificant wisps of white underneath their feet.

A wooden bridge materialized between the two of them, and N beckoned her forward. Tentatively, she stepped out onto the bridge and tested it to see if it would collapse. When it didn't, she put another foot forward. Then another. Then another. Gradually, she made her way across without a hitch, even though she was shaking the whole time. N was waiting for her, his arms open and his face earnest.

"Dance with me," he said, and it was a command, a request, and a plea all in one.

She held out her hand and he took it in his. They stepped off of N's pedestal, but amazingly, they did not fall down. Instead, they began a gentle waltz across the empty sky, their footsteps moving in cadence with a tuneless song that neither of them could hear but one that they instinctively knew.

They danced and danced, twirling and gliding gracefully around the entire circumference of the world. She was laughing, and it was tinkling silver sound, like bells. Her partner's eyes were jade green and they sparkled with merriment.

"I would do anything for you," said N in a solemn voice. She giggled.

"Can you give me the moon and the sun, then?" she asked, teasing.

He smiled. "Of course." And from where they stood, held aloft by something they could not discern, he reached out and plucked the moon and stars from where they were and compressed them until they could fit in his palm. He offered them to her.

She held the pearly-white and blazing orbs in both hands, incandescence radiating off of them in waves. They looked like otherwordly gems.

"Beautiful," she breathed. "Thank you, N."

He pulled her close to him and she suddenly felt very scared. His eyes had gone dark, a shadow crossing his fine features.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing her lightly on the lips before releasing her.

She fell backwards, her hands empty. For a moment, she wondered where the moon and the sun had gone. She looked up and saw a magnificent white dragon soaring towards her, mouth brimming with tongues of flame. She could feel the warmth snaking through the air like tendrils and wrapping around her like rope. Her skin blistered and cracked where the heat touched.

_I'm sorry._

She closed her eyes and let the dragon unleash its fire. Waves of red washed over her and she felt like she was inside a sun. The sensation was overwhelming. Too overwhelming.

In the flames, she saw an image of her Samurott formed entirely of fire, its terrifying visage shocking her. It gave a weak, whispery sigh and asked, _Why did you let me die?_

Tears fell from her eyes and instantly evaporated inside the fiery corona. _I'm sorry._

Its look was accusatory. _You were weak. Too weak to save me. I was your friend. I believed in you all the way through your journey, through every up and down in your life. And now I have nothing to believe in._

_Please_, she begged her partner. _Please forgive me._

_How can I do that? I'm dead, remember._

With that, her fire-Samurott gave a roar of pain and vanished amidst the flickering tongues of red and orange. Her knees buckled at the sound, her composure breaking.

She fell back into the Earth, clouds and air and everything speeding past her as she continued on a one-way trip back to hell. Her beloved Samurott's words echoed in her mind.

_I'm dead, remember?_

She closed her eyes and let the sensation of falling take her completely.

[. . .]

The remains of the smoking bridge loomed in the distance like some great felled beast, the remains of which were slowly collapsing into the sea below. Lengths of warped, blackened metal with chasms between them like broken ribs, the ends of which still glowed white-hot. Formerly taut cables dangled lifelessly from steel girders, the areas where they had snapped looking frayed and twisted. And beneath it all, the remains of the grunts who had been caught in the blast were drifting to the seafloor to become food for the Frillish and Basculin.

Cheren felt no sympathy for them. Even as his mind conjured images of fleshy scraps (perhaps not even that) floating amongst all the chunks of the bridge, there was no twinge of guilt that overtook his conscience, no disgust or repulsion at having been part of a plan to kill all those people. They were hardly _people _anyway; more like monsters.

Team Plasma's victory over Nimbasa City was not unexpected; at least, not at the end. Taking over the city, however, was only one of the things they did. In an attempt to 'purge' the city of its unclean ideals, the Sage Rood had declared that all trainers in possession of a Pokémon were a threat to society and worthy of elimination. The grunts had stormed into every house, apartment, and dwelling in the city, breaking down the doors with steel batons and riot shields, frightening the residents inside. They then proceeded to drag anyone with a Pokémon (which was basically everyone) out of their homes and into the streets, were the terrified person was quickly ganged up on a group of grunts waiting for the express purpose of beating them up. Heavy blows had rained down, punctuated by cries of pain and pleas for mercy from the victims. Some were even beaten past the point of survival, their dead bodies thudding like punching bags as the grunts assailed them with their weapons.

The grisly details of the city-wide attacks had been broadcast to Clay by an anonymous sender. Whom the sender was, nobody knew, though Clay strongly believed Ghetsis had sent it as a sort of morbid calling card. A taunt, or maybe a warning telling them to back off. Near the end when the broadcast had begun to culminate in what he and everyone else inferred was the start of a lynching, Clay had shut off the TV in obvious revulsion and stalked out of the room. The other trainers with him who had been watching continued to stare at the TV, fixated by what they had just seen. Cheren hadn't been able to turn away either, long after the images had fizzled away into blackness.

That night, he lost whatever sympathy he might have held for N and his lofty ideals. Deep down, Team Plasma was just as corrupt as Team Magma or Team Rocket had been, the front of Pokémon liberation simply a shabby veil for hiding their true, darker desires.

That same night, Clay used his status as a Gym Leader to disable the caps placed on the city's League-issued Pokéballs, which had come from Siplh Co. in the distant Kanto region. The caps, a universal system used in all regions, limited the powers of the Pokémon stored inside the Pokéballs, ensuring that nothing too severe happened during battles. In short, the caps were a safety measure, a leash, intended to protect trainers and dull down what might have been bloody deathmatches.

There were only two rules in the League: never steal anything from anyone, and never issue a command to your Pokémon with the intent of causing severe injury or even death in the opposing team.

All Gym Leaders were given a precise set of instructions and a mechanism for disabling the caps in their area of jurisdiction. Removing the limiters on a Pokéball was only to be used in a time of emergency. Before they began working at their respective Gyms, the Leaders were asked to swear an oath that they would never disable the caps unless it was absolutely necessary. In the situation that they were facing now, 'absolutely necessary' was probably an applicable definition. Perhaps it even justified murder.

Whatever the case was, Driftveil City and Clay were no longer aiming to harm. They were shooting to kill. And Cheren was right along with them.

Now, he stood alongside Clay, peering into the ever-thickening mist and attempting to glean more about the number of grunts arriving. Clay grimaced and removed the binoculars, looking pointedly at Cheren.

"Mind clearin' away some of the fog?" he asked.

Without a word, Cheren removed a Pokéball from his belt and tossed it into the air. Emerging in a flash of light, his Unfezant stood proudly on the ground, its vibrant plumage and colorful coat looking especially sharp today.

"Air Cutter," Cheren commanded, gesturing at the grayness.

Rising slightly into the air, Unfezant whipped its wings forward, unleashing a volley of razor-sharp blades of wind that sliced through the mist cleanly, parting the gray wall wherever they traveled. In moments, most of the mist obscuring their view had been cleared away. Unfezant quickly descended and nudged Cheren affectionately.

"Good job," he said, patting the bird before returning it to its ball. Clay nodded at him in thanks and returned to his view of the docks. His mouth twisted in a grimace as he eyed the grunts spilling out of the boats and onto the wharfs, their numbers steadily increasing. From his vantage point, Cheren thought they looked a bit like Durants.

The grunts that had remained, the ones that were slowly boarding the docks, cut a far more intimidating figure than the ones he, Touko, and Bianca had battled before. They were dressed entirely in black, with plated shoulder guards, knee guards, and durable-looking bulletproof vests strapped to their torsos. They looked like they meant business.

"When do we attack?" he asked Clay, filled with anticipation.

"Not just yet," Clay muttered, eyes alert. "I'm waitin'."

"What for?" Cheren gestured to the grunts. "They're vulnerable now. This could be our only chance to take them out."

"Your thinkin' is right," said Clay. "But I'm not ready. It isn't time for us to lead the charge, not yet." He grinned at Cheren. "The bridge wasn't my only surprise."

He wondered what Clay might have meant by that. What was his plan? Although he had a significant part planning the defense of the city, he still wasn't fully aware of what Clay was intending to do. That knowledge was reserved for Clay and Clay alone, which really wasn't very helpful. If they were going to fight off the grunts, they had to work together and communicate, and the latter was what Clay didn't particularly excel at. Maybe it was paranoia, some irrational fear that someone would be listening to their plans. Perhaps a double agent or a spy hidden in the shadows, ready to report back to his or her Plasma superior.

Then he remembered the Shadow Triad. Ghetsis' personal trio of spies who had also served as messengers during Touko's journey, delivering various tidbits of information from their Lord N. In the end, though, it was really Ghetsis they answered to. When they put their minds to it, the Triad could become virtually undetectable. He hadn't even noticed them watching him and Touko outside of the Icirrus Gym until Brycen identified them. Perhaps Clay's paranoia was justified after all.

Somehow, though, he doubted that Ghetsis would send one of the Triad on a mission like this. One of the Sages, probably, to oversee the attack and make sure Driftveil went under, but not one of the Shadows. Whatever Clay was planning, though, was probably big. The bridge had proved just that. He decided to trust in the Gym Leader for now, counting on whatever grand plan he had for the annihilation of another two hundred or so grunts.

They stood in silence for some time, observing the progression and doing nothing. As Clay said, it wasn't time yet. Some of the other trainers from the gym were standing behind them, ready and at attention. They fidgeted and scowled and stamped on the ground, anxious for Clay to issue an order, and preferably an order that they charge into battle with swords blazing. Or in this case, Pokémon blazing.

"What's taking him so long?" one of the trainers muttered. He was a young man, stocky and well-built. Beside him, his Boldore looked just as annoyed as his trainer was. "Shouldn't we have been on the move already?"

His friend, slimmer in build but taller in stature, said, "Wonder if Clay's getting old. I mean, has he forgotten that the battle's even here?"

Clay whipped around and shot the two whisperers a withering look. At this, the two men froze and paled significantly. Glowering at them, Clay turned back around and trained his attention on the docks.

"Your men are getting impatient," Cheren noted.

"I've got ears, boy. I know damn well that they're impatient."

"And you aren't going to do anything about it?"

"If I play my cards right, _none _of us will have to do anything about it. Just hold on a second, boy. Young'uns. Always in a hurry these days." Clay huffed.

That confirmed it. Was Clay planning to use his mysterious trump card to take out all those grunts in one fell swoop? Cheren could hardly believe it.

"What's your reason, boy?"

"What?"

"Your reason for fightin'." Clay tucked the binoculars into a pocket. "What's your conviction, Cheren? Why do you fight?"

"Clay, this is hardly the time to be discussing internal motivations. I mean, what other reason have I got? I can't just sit by and watch as Team Plasma takes over the region. I mean, if I did, even if I survived, I'd never live it down. Knowing that I just stood by and did nothing as they separated people and Pokémon."

Cheren sat down, and Clay did the same next to him. How absurd this felt; knowing they were only minutes away before Clay's master plan kicked in and they either won or died trying, and here he was. sitting calmly and discussing freaking philosophy or whatnot. Crazy. He felt an urge to laugh.

"I've always known that what Team Plasma was doing was wrong. It was total bullshit. Took half of Unova long enough to realize that Ghetsis was spouting crap, but they know now. Everyone does. You'd have to be an idiot to ignore the blatant lie when it's in front of your face. Seriously, how self-righteous can those assholes get? They preach Pokémon liberation and a better world for the abused and neglected, and then they burst into people's homes and take them into the streets and beat them to a pulp. And they act like it's for the good of Nimbasa, or Striaton, or Nacrene, that they're trying to 'purge' the bad ideas from people. It's a front for sadism, and it's a very thin one."

Clay nodded, and Cheren went on, "They're evil. All of them. Well, maybe not all, but the majority are, anyway. They're just in it for hedonistic purposes, not because any of them actually give a crap about liberating. Ghetsis is manipulating N. He's Plasma's puppet king, a scapegoat to put in front of them to take the shit when the shit hits the fan. Whatever they're planning, it's not going to work, though. People-innocent people-getting beat up over nothing, you can't just ignore that. Sure, they'll doctor the news reports, clean up, make sure the evidence doesn't show. But people aren't stupid. Their intentions are obvious. And if no one acts now...they will soon. I'm just taking the lead right now. This city is, too. Hopefully others will follow."

Clay remained silent, deep in thought. When he spoke, his voice sounded thicker somehow. "You know, you're a good kid, Cheren. And so is Touko. Not many could've done what she did, becoming the hero and calling Zekrom into this world. I know she's gotten a lot of...negative reception for her defeat lately." Clay gave a weary sigh and Cheren glanced at him sharply, not sure of where this was going.

"I understand she had a lot on her plate at the time-"

"Could _you _have honestly done better?" Cheren snapped, already feeling a familiar rage for his friend blossom in him. If Clay so much as said the wrong word at this point-

The Gym Leader waved a hand dismissively. "It's not that I'm unhappy with her. In fact, I admire her for what she did. She was a brave one, I'll tell you that. Chargin' into that castle like there was no tomorrow, facin' off against N and his dragon when she was grossly outnumbered. Who knows how many grunts that castle could hold?"

Feeling his anger drop, Cheren's shoulders relaxed a little. "She kicked ass."

The corners of Clay's mouth twitched upward in a smile. "Damn right she did. She whooped Team Plasma's asses and sent 'em all packin'. She did something that none of us could do." He paused. "All that shit about a chosen hero and destiny and the dragons alignin' themselves with their chosen ones, I don't believe in that crap. I think it was all about having the guts to step up to the plate and doing what you felt like was right. And Touko had that in her. That fire. That courage. So I'm not judging her for anything, no. I support her. She-"

"-she was a total badass." Cheren felt his voice cracking and he brushed tears brimming around his eyes. "She never let them win. She fought 'till the end."

The fog swirled around them. Clay got up and put his hands on his hips, frowning. He tugged the brim of his hat lower around his head. "The thing is, that means N had the balls to put up or shut up, too. No matter what you think, you've gotta admit that boy's got a fire of his own. That's why he partnered up with the white dragon." Clay's brow was furrowed. "He's a strong one as well, that boy. His dreams are nothin' to laugh at. Defeatin' Alder, of all people, shows just how determined he was-_is _to change the world as he knew it. Problem is, are we strong enough to resist him?"

"Sir!"

Jeff ran up to Clay's side, followed by Keith. Jeff's Krookodile trailed them at a distance, teeth bared. Cheren could feel it all around them. So could the other trainers, who were now even tenser than before. The battle was due to begin any second now. It was a matter of who shot first.

Despite the fact that he had only jogged a short distance, Jeff was panting. "Sir-the grunts, they're-"

"I know." Clay's voice was grim.

"Are you-"

"Right now, right this moment." Clay gave Cheren a fierce look. "I said I had a surprise planned, didn't I?"

For the first time, Cheren realized that Clay had four empty Pokéballs clipped to his vest. He glanced at the grunts. Then back at Clay.

There was nothing at first. Then, the city itself seemed to tremble. He had never experienced anything like it; shudders moving through the ground, like the stirring of a giant monster. Cheren hastily stepped back from the hill, watching in amazement and something like awe as huge chunks of soil and grass crumbled off of the ledge and toppled down, rolling through the streets like bowling balls. The vibrations shuddered through the ground, permeating every inch of the city. Cheren could feel himself shaking. He fell down, but quickly scrambled back up to watch the scene below.

The grunts were eerily composed, standing in straight, rigid lines, barely a flicker of fear on their faces. Several of them looked panicked, but they resolutely remained in place. Jagged lines began to erupt from the earth, snaking their way toward the assembled party with sinuous grace, like brushstrokes from a master calligraphist. The seams grew wider, and Cheren swore he could see Earth's core at the bottom, fiery orange light illuminating both sides of the rifts. Plumes of dust and soil spewed into the air, great geysers erupting more gray like volcanoes. A sudden tremor shook the city once more, and Cheren rocked back on his heels, barely keeping his balance.

Clay's face was stern and unyielding. He raised a hand and made a fist, holding it high in the air. Spellbound, Cheren saw four jets of soil shoot into the air simultaneously, spewing dirt everywhere like a dark rain. When the debris cleared, he saw four clusters of brown, three-headed beings with black eyes, red noses, and no discernible mouths. Lines spiderwebbed from their bodies, forming a delicate tracery of patterns in the earth.

Dugtrio. He had once read a book marveling at how the bizarre creatures only manifested on the ground, even when released from the air, as well as how only their heads showed. The book had gone on to speculate that perhaps the actual bodies of the Dugtrio lay far underground, sleeping titans that were capable of circumnavigating the earth with ease. The heads were merely what was capable of being seen. If the speculations were true...the thought alone was alarming. It was apparent that Clay held command over the four Dugtrio. In a single, harmonious movement, their heads swiveled to stare at him. Clay's fist remained in the air, and the Dugtrio turned away and focused on the group that lay before them.

With lightning speed, the seams surged forward towards the grunts with renewed vigor. Patches of cement, grass, and wood heaved and fell, like waves in a turbulent ocean. Some of the grunts fled, faces contorted with fear as they sought to escape the onslaught. The wharfs crumpled like pieces of paper, wood splintering into hundreds of sharp fragments that quickly fell under the sea. In desperation, they leaped into the water and swam for their boats, but were quickly pulled under by an unseen force. The ones that got away flopped back onto land, soaked and terrified.

Cheren finally realized what Clay's big surprise was. The seams, the light that seemed to emanate from deep within only pointed to one thing. He was having the Dugtrio use Fissure. He was planning to collapse the earth from under the grunts and send them plunging into an unfathomable abyss. Cheren was shocked by the Gym Leader's audacity, and also awed by the power the Dugtrio possessed. The intensity of the combined attacks sent shockwaves in every direction. Chunks of rock from a nearby cliff collapsed. The lighthouse far out in the distance went out for a single moment, and when the light returned it was weaker than before. Waves roiled and churned angrily like the water was boiling.

Fissure was one of the most powerful Pokémon moves used in existence. If it landed, it meant an instant KO for the opponent and a victory for the user. Fortunately, the move had very low accuracy and expended a large amount of energy, so no one could use it to claim victory over and over again. Each of the four Dugtrio had about a 20% chance of executing the Fissure properly. Or 80 out of 400. A fifth of a chance that even one would land. And yet, it looked like the Fissures would all meet and converge at the center, sending the grunts into whatever Hell waited for them. The implications the attacks could have, however, were what frightened him the most. _Four _Fissures all hitting their target? It was unheard of, an anomalous event. The devastation could be city-wide. Did Clay intend on collapsing Driftveil as well?

His legs felt like they had been reduced to jelly by the shaking. The tremors had reached a volume so loud that he had to shout to be heard. "Clay!" he bellowed. "What are you doing?! Do you know what this will do to us?"

Clay did not hear; or if he did, he gave no indication that he had heard the note of terror in Cheren's voice. With an almost maniacal grin, he roared, "Go to hell, you fuckers!"

Cheren's fear reached a fever pitch. There was a blaring screech in his head that drowned out everything. The planet itself seemed to heave under his feet, the very ground on which he stood undulating with terrifying strength as the seams widened into great chasms, the orange light at the bottom of it all.

"Clay!" he shrieked, and then-

Four rays of blue light shot from the center of the assembled group like shooting stars. Their radiance burned his eyes and he turned away, repressing a wordless scream. All of them morphed as one, shifting with liquid fluidity and taking on solid form. The light cleared away in sheets, revealing blue metal bodies crisscrossed with a variety of arcane, ancient symbols. Ribbon-like arms dangled from their tops, on which sat a metal arch etched with words from archaic languages-languages that no human being on the Earth could comprehend. Their cry was sonorous and echoing. All remaining fog dissipated in their presence, and above, the sky became a gray color as storm clouds gathered, their insides churning with lightning.

"Bronzoooooonnnnng!" the bell-like creatures cried. Their voices shook through the entire city. Cheren uncovered his eyes to stare, awestruck, at the floating Pokémon.

Emerald light congealed around their bodies, shaping over them like pieces of ethereal armor. The light was patterned with colors from the aurora, the dancing lights shifting and reforming before shifting again. The Bronzong crossed their arms inward, as if drawing something in. Then, just as suddenly, they thrust their arms out, sending out a ripple of energy that coalesced into a solid green bubble. Traces of what looked like jade fire sparked over their forms as the bubble expanded with incredible speed, quickly growing the cover the entire group of grunts. The barrier sealed itself into the ground with a thud, enclosing the group just in time as the seams reached it. There was a sound like a thunderclap as the rifts struck the barrier, echoing like a struck gong. The Dugtrio stared ahead impassively, all twelve faces scrunched in concentration.

Everyone held their breath. Clay had dropped his hand and now stared, red-faced, at the green barrier that had simply materialized where none had existed before. Jeff and Keith were just as cowed. The trainers looked on, mouths agape.

Ever so slowly, rows of cracks originating where the barrier and the Fissures collided began snaking their way up the barrier, trees of cracks spreading to encompass the barrier's circumference. The cracks snaked, swerved, and sometimes met with each other as the web of lines swept over the orb of green. The sound as the two intense energies clashed-one of earth, one of pure energy-was like nothing Cheren had ever heard before. It was shattering glass, firecrackers, and the crackle of flames all combined into a single amalgamation of noise.

"Damn..." he heard Jeff mutter. Keith blurted a string of expletives under his breath.

The world was still for a single, crystalline second. Then, the cracks began to retreat. Imperceptibly at first, but then they vanished in moments too fast for Cheren to perceive. The barrier, which had looked like it was covered in thin-as-silk vines, slowly regained its startling green color as the cracks simply disappeared. When the last of the black lines had left the barrier, the seams began to close as well, shutting themselves so tightly that the chasms formed in the earth were no longer observable. The Dugtrio, exhausted from the energy expended, hung their heads limply, eyes already going blank.

Clay's face was as stormy as the skies above. With a sudden pop, the bubble disintegrated, green molecules of energy expanding outward like a supernova explosion and dispersing into the air. Soon, nothing was left but the wind. Cheren felt a drop of something cold on his face. He looked up, and yes, it was raining.

_Rain Dance_, he thought. _The trademark ability of the Bronzong. They're going to try and weaken our Ground and Rock-type moves. And sadly, that's what most of this Gym relies on. Congratulations to the clever bastard who thought of bringing Bronzong here. _He wiped rain from his forehead and returned his gaze to the grunts.

A lone figure walked in between the rows of black-clad men and women. Dressed in a dark cloak scrawled with the sigil of Team Plasma, head topped with a red cap, his beard neatly trimmed, was one of the Seven Sages. Zinzolin.

He walked with a haughty, almost arrogant stride, his robes billowing around him. At the head of the group of grunts, he finally deigned to speak, his voice amplified by a microphone fastened around an ear.

"People of Driftveil City!" he boomed. "By decree of our Lord Sovereign N, you are ordered to subject yourselves under the observation and jurisdiction of Team Plasma. By decree number one, all persons possessing Pokémon shall release them immediately into the wild. By decree number two, the act of training a Pokémon shall be construed as an act of terrorism against our glorious king and shall be received with punishment. By decree number..."

"Is this guy for real?" he heard Jeff mutter. "Pompous prick..."

Cheren himself had already tuned out Zinzolin's words and instead let a hand stray to his belt.

Clay glared at Zinzolin, fists clenched and a vein throbbing on his neck. Wordlessly, he held out a hand, and Keith, immediately recognizing what he wanted, scurried off into the Gym.

"The wisdom of our king shall resound across these ignorant, misguided lands!" Zinzolin cried. "By his Divine Providence and the blessing from the great white dragon, he shall lead us into a marvelous new era, in which all Pokémon are free, no longer bound under the cruel yoke of trainers! The abused, the scorned, and the mistreated shall inherit the lands that were once theirs!" Finishing off his speech with a flamboyant gesticulation, he shouted, "Clay, leader of Driftveil City, I ask you this: will you and your people be here to enter the new age with us? Or will you instead choose the path into darkness and spurn his guidance? Purity and enlightenment or a system perpetuated by violence and human greed? Answer me this, citizens of Driftveil!"

Keith returned, a white object in tow. Upon closer inspection, Cheren saw that it was a bullhorn and grinned as it was handed off to Clay. The Gym Leader looked like he had a lot of things to say and was barely restraining himself from cursing out Zinzolin right here and right now.

Yanking the bullhorn from Keith, Clay positioned the cone-shaped device in front of his mouth and sucked in a deep breath. Then he roared, "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING IN MY CITY?!"

The sound that issued from the bullhorn blew Cheren's breath away. Clay's voice traveled all the way down to where Zinzolin was standing and probably well past that, as well. The old Sage seemed taken aback by Clay's volume, but quickly regained his composure and quickly fixed the Gym Leader with a patronizingly pitiful look.

"Oh, fools," he howled, caught in the throes of his tirade. "Are you blind to the cloth that covers your eyes? Are you deaf to the shouts of the beaten and the laughter of the wicked? Cast off your mortal bindings, Driftveil, and embrace our king's glorious vision! By the fire of the white dragon, he shall cleanse this sinful region of its impurities and begin anew! Catharsis by flame!"

There was a slight pause as Clay took in the Sage's words. Then he spoke.

"I don't know what kind of crazy, kooky ideas you've been fillin' your heads with," he began, "but there ain't no way you're gonna take this city. Not from me. Not today. You can bring your king," he went on, "bring him and his dragon with him. See if that makes a difference. But I can tell you that I ain't standin' down. Go try to take down something else. Jackasses." His voice was menacingly quiet all the way to the end.

Zinzolin sneered derisively. "You poor, misguided man! You still cling to your beliefs and resist the benevolence of our Lord N?"

"Can you really say that with a straight face?" Clay yelled. "You talk about kindness for Pokémon, and liberation, and yet you start a massacre in Nimbasa City? Your words are empty. In fact, you're an empty person. You've got nothin' that drives you but your own power. But do you honestly think that gives you a damn _birthright _to beat down innocent people?"

"My majesty has granted me the power to drive out what is impure!" the Sage shouted. "I am justified in my search for purity. I am justified because I am one of his sentinels, sent to rid this city of its filth. To cleanse this region, my Lord N has enlisted the help of ones who share his mindset, such as those like myself." Zinzolin smiled. "I will ask you once again: will you accept the word of our king and be part of the new world?"

"You can ask all you want," Clay growled. "The answer stands. _Fuck off_."

"You would incur the wrath of Team Plasma upon your city?" The Sage leered at Clay. "You would witness the might of Team Plasma upon your shores, watch every denizen of impurity burn before your eyes? What do your people think of this, Gym Leader?"

"Better to face the lie head-on rather than realize we were duped later. Am I right? We've seen what happened in Nimbasa. The city didn't go peacefully, like your news reports said." Clay stopped, withdrawing for a second in thought. "That tape. The broadcast. It was you who sent it, wasn't it? You were helping maintain the siege and then led the attack after the gates went down."

Zinzolin shrugged, a condescendingly dismissive gesture. "I feel no need to explain such trivialities."

"Answer me, you lying two-faced bastard!" Clay's anger was shocking in its ferocity. "Was it you?"

A sinister, serpentine grin slowly crept its way up Zinzolin's face. "I'll confess, I did have some part in the scenes you witnessed. However, it was not me who showed you those images, but a grunt." Zinzolin chuckled. "Such foolishness in that city of heathens. Will you lead your people into destruction as well? Are you yet intimidated by the thought of such a thing happening to you? Can you imagine the cries as this city _burns _to the ground-"

"SHUT UP!" Clay bellowed. With a flick of his hand, he sent two Pokéballs from his vest flying into the air. The orbs seemed suspended in midair for a moment, but quickly unhinged, releasing massive torents of light that splashed onto the ground and grew, pillar-like, into a pair of terrifying new beasts.

A hulking green behemoth stood on Clay's right. Its body was plated with an almost metallic armor, every scale sharp and defined. A tail that was as thick as a tree trunk swung behind it, absently craving deep grooves into the earth. Gleaming claws jutted from its hands and feet, and a trail of spikes ran from its head to its back.

The goliath flanking Clay's left was a solid tank of rippling muscle. Its brown skin was interspersed with orange patches of rocky skin. Nestled along its palms were several holes, and affixed to its forehead was a razor-sharp horn. Its tail, which was topped with a stone-like growth, hung pendulously from behind it as it gave a single, deadly growl.

The power that the two titans exuded was enough to make Cheren stare in open shock. The entire hill quivered from the weight of the Pokémon. He recognized them instantly; their reputations were awe-inspiring.

Rhyperior and Tyranitar. Some of the strongest non-Legendary Rock-types in existence. And Clay was their trainer?

At that point, whatever thoughts swirling about his mind were suddenly drowned out by a rhythmic, pulsating sound. The two Pokémon were crouched in offensive stances, Tyranitar with its mouth gaping open and Rhyperior holding its arms apart. He watched, mesmerized, as swirling spheres of energy blossomed in front of the two, swelling in size like white-hot balloons. The heat from the spheres evaporated all the dew on the ground and dried up the grass, steam rising into the air. Wisely, Cheren stepped back, and just in time.

From the orbs shot two brilliant rays of pure energy, flying through the air with a report like a clap of thunder. Waves of heat spread from the beams, distorting the air around them. He could hear a sizzling sound like the buzzing of hundreds of insects as the beams vaporized the rain they passed through, leaving behind nothing but thin clouds of white. The streams crossed each other, merging into a single splendid white bullet of power that continued, inexorably, towards Zinzolin and his grunts.

Cheren felt a peculiar sensation of being in a vacuum. It was like all the air had been sucked out of him. He stumbled, nearly falling over.

Just as quickly, that air shot back outward.

A pale blue barrier sprang into existence just as the twin rays were about to collide into the Sage. As the two opposing energies met, a ripple of energy emerged from the collision and traveled through the city, devastating buildings caught in its wake. He covered his eyes, dazzled by the brilliance that shot from the meeting. Streams of light roiled around the center of impact, resembling the tendrils of some eldritch beast as they danced.

The barrier collapsed inward with a groan, clouds of cerulean particles scattering into the wind. The beams of energy shuddered, then winked out like a pair of dying stars. The heavy stench of smoke and something else pervaded Cheren's sense of smell.

The somber quartet of Bronzong arose, swaying their arms to a melody none but them could hear. Uttering a simultaneous cry, they whirled, revealing orbs of dark energy spinning around their bodies, steadily burgeoning into something larger.

Acting on instinct, Cheren ripped a Pokéball from his belt and tossed it forward, already yelling, "Serperior, use Protect!"

As soon as the emerald serpent emerged from its ball, it wasted no time in generating a thin jade-colored barrier around itself and the rest of the hill. Ethereal lines of light pulsed through the shield. The protective wall had barely just been formed when eight black spheres smashed into the barrier, instantly dissipating upon contact. Arcs of violet electricity cartwheeled from the series of small bursts.

"Charge!" Clay shouted, and the trainers behind him roared their support. The Gym Leader ran down the hill's steep slope, his Tyranitar and Rhyperior following at a subdued pace. Like a wave erupting from the sea, the trainers behind him swept down the hill, looking for all the world like a tide of humans.

"Judgment is upon you, wicked ones!" Zinzolin howled. "Followers, destroy this corrupt town! Execute the will of our king!"

The grunts shouted fierce war cries, sweeping around the Sage just as the trainers from Clay's gym met with them. The two groups collided in a savage meeting, trainers from both sides already calling out their Pokemon. Pinpoints of light flashed and then died out as Gigalith, Zebstrika, Onix, Timburr, and Conkeldurr were summoned by Clay's trainers, while the Plasma grunts called out their own Pokemon.

Cheren remembered that the cap had been disabled. With a feeling like the ground had been pulled from under him, he realized that his Pokemon-_his _Pokemon-now had the potential to kill if he so wished. Leaf Blade could cut off someone's head. Scald could cause third-degree burns. He staggered, shocked by the amount of previously untapped power he now had control of.

Flinging the rest of his Pokeballs into the air, he watched as each of his Pokemon took form. Besides Serperior, there was Vanilluxe, Simipour, Unfezant, Haxorus, and Heatmor. Every one of them materialized and looked at him with curious expressions, waiting for instructions while their eyes strayed to the battle going on below them.

"Guys," he said. "You know...you know I love all of you, right?"

He received a chorus of ebullient chirps, screeches, and snorts in response. Despite himself, he felt a weak smile creeping up his cheeks.

"Well, we're going to be in a battle now. A really big battle that needs all of our cooperation." He pointed to the fighting, at the streams of electricity, jets of acid, and beams of fire that soared like magnificent missiles through the air. In the distance, he heard someone scream and winced.

"This battle isn't like anything you've ever done before." There was another scream, and he saw a small pillar of flame rise up. He knew he had to hurry up with his instructions and jump into the fray _soon_. "You're all much stronger now. You understand? Your attacks...aren't what they once were."

They looked at him in confusion, and he sighed.

"You all have lots of power in you. It just hasn't manifested as strongly as it will now. Every attack that you use...will be much more powerful. You can kill. Do you understand? You can kill." His voice wavered a little near the end.

His Simipour gave him a reassuring pat on the back and flashed him a thumbs-up. "Simmiii!" it cried.

"Ziiiiii!" Unfezant shrilled, and the others joined in.

"We're all fighting for something more than a Gym Badge now," he said. "We're fighting to keep people and Pokemon together. Team Plasma wants to change that. They want to make it so that Pokemon are separated from people. They want to pull you and me apart."

"Simi!" His Simipour screeched in indignation.

"What do you say, guys?" he asked, trying for a casual voice but hearing a slight crack in his tone. "Do you still want to be with me? Fight with me?"

They responded with sounds that he could not linguistically comprehend, but he understood the message behind it. They were saying yes. They were still by his side, as loyal and trustworthy as ever.

He felt a pang of love for them. His beloved Pokemon, who had been-and still were-some of the most trusted friends he ever had. Seeing them like this, ready for fight for him, made him feel indescribably happy and sad at the same time.

"I want you to go out there and attack all the Team Plasma guys that you see. They'll be the bad people, the ones in the black clothes and big vests and masks. Use everything you've got, okay? We aren't going to let Clay down, are we?"

They chorused in a unanimous 'No.'

"Alright, guys. Be careful out there, okay? Be very careful."

"Seerrrrrrii!" his Serperior hissed, battle-ready.

He turned to his Unfezant, the big bird eyeing him with something deeper than respect. It was friendship, a bond forged from the months he had spent alongside it as they both worked to achieve his dream: making it to the League and becoming the Champion. How far those times seemed now, how distant and insignificant in the great scheme of things.

"Do you mind if I ride you?"

Unfezant lowered its head and beckoned him with its eyes, which was answer enough. Climbing on, he gripped a few of the bird's neck feathers, making sure not to pull too tightly. Once settled, he shouted, "Let's go! Charge, everyone!"

With a great heave of its wings, Unfezant lifted off the ground and began flying towards the sight of the battle. Cold air whipped around him and he shoved his messy black hair out of his eyes, squinting at the ground and watching as his Pokemon followed after him. Serperior slithered with sinuous grace, Simipour reverted to part of its simian nature and ran on all fours, Vanilluxe drifted leisurely, sending sprays of freezing air in its wake. Haxorus and Heatmor shot forth with surprising speed, howling. He felt tremendous affection for every one of them. They were his, and he was theirs.

He and Unfezant touched down, banking sharply and skimming over the heads of the battlers. They narrowly missed a spiraling jet of sludge, the thick stream instead splashing onto an unfortunate Golem. The creature shrieked as the potent acid bit into its sturdy shell, dissolving some of its protective plating. His fears were confirmed. Team Plasma had also managed to disable the Pokeballs belonging to their Pokemon.

"Haxorus, Dragon Pulse!" he yelled. "Simipour, use Ice Beam! Vanilluxe, attack with Flash Cannon!"

His commands rang true, his Pokemon following his orders immediately. Opening its mouth wide, Haxorus unleashed a cannon-like blast of fiery energy from its gaping maw, the blast crashing into a Garbodor. The bulky Pokemon stumbled back, a large burn on its chest. Simipour leaped into the air, already discharging a crystalline beam of icy light from between its paws. The ray sliced across the Garbodor's torso, leaving a pale coat of ice across the towering Pokemon. Snarling in anger, the Garbodor pulled itself up, breaking apart the ice as it did so. Swinging an arm around, it shot a wave of foul slime at his Simipour. The simian dodged, but still caught some of the liquid on its arm. Yelping in pain, Simipour leapt nimbly away. Cheren felt a surge of anger that his Pokemon had been wounded, even a little bit. Before the Garbodor could loose another Sludge Wave, Vanilluxe rose like a grinning beacon in the air. Both heads released dual shots of silver light, which rammed into the Garbodor with such force that it was pushed deep into the ground, chunks of earth torn up as it sank deeper and deeper. When the light faded, the Garbodor was no longer moving, its eyes glassy but a faint pulse surely beating under its skin.

Cheren expelled a relieved breath, glad that it not been killed. Swiveling his head around, his eyes widened in shock as he glimpsed a volley of crackling electric orbs shooting straight at him. Without warning, his Serperior jumped in front of him, raising a squall of green energy that solidified into a protective bubble. The orbs crashed and dispersed, and his Serperior dropped back onto the ground before coiling and giving a vicious slash to a Liepard. The feline recoiled, hissing in pain and wounded pride, before jumping and delivering two fierce blows to Serperior from its glowing claws. The serpent fell back, a criss-cross pattern of blood welling up on its neck. Before Liepard could attack again, it was brutally smashed aside by a huge boulder. He saw surprise in the cat's eyes before it was hurtled away.

Clay appeared below him, face flushed and bleeding from a small cut near his eye. He grinned.

"Cheren!" he roared. "What took you so long?"

"Had to take time to sort out my priorities!" Cheren yelled back.

Clay guffawed. "Well, I'm just glad you're here!" he shouted. "We need it!"

His grin flattened into a scowl. "For a couple of oddly-dressed pansies, those grunts are sure givin' us a hell of a fight."

[/ / /]

The battle raged on.

Both sides showed no sign of tiring, nor did they give a single inch to their contenders. The docks were lit up like a lightshow. Streams of light shot through the sky like shooting stars, crashing into unlucky victims with devastating effects. The waters in the port boiled and steamed. The wharfs had long since been consumed by fire and corrosives, the only thing remaining being rotted pieces of wood.

Cheren and Clay darted throughout the teeming mass of trainers and grunts alike, offering help where it was needed. Aloft his Unfezant, Cheren watched over his Pokemon and gave commands as needed. Clay was constantly shadowed by his Rhyperior and Tyranitar, the two behemoths ever watchful of their master and vigilant when it came to defending him.

"Haha!" Jeff yelled, whooping as his Krookodile sent a whirlwind of sharp stones flying at a Klingklang. The floating Pokemon was unable to see the attacks coming in time and bore the brunt of the onslaught, deep slashes and depressions appearing all over its body like bruises. Diving in low, Cheren's Unfezant brought a shining wing to the wounded creature and bashed it across its front, crumpling one of its spinning gears. The Klingklang let out a metallic shriek and shot a beam of silver light at Krookodile. It moved too fast for Krookodile to dodge, and, with a spectacular burst of radiance, the beam lanced into Krookodile and sent it spinning across the battlefield.

The wounded Klingklang glared at them with its head. Its trainer, a female grunt bearing a large tear in her sleeve, stepped up behind it. She held a bloodstained katana in one hand, and with a single agile swoop slashed a Zebstrika charging at her. The Zebstrika howled and collapsed, one of its legs bearing a wide cut oozing red. Cheren thought he could see a smirk even through the mask that obscured the lower half of her face. He ordered his to fly at her and use Aerial Ace. Nodding, Unfezant flapped its wings and flew forward.

Snapping her fingers, the female grunt stood in place as her Klingklang swept in front of her, body crackling with electricity. Letting out another metallic cry, it sent a splintering thunderbolt towards Cheren. Unfezant swerved to avoid it, then struck the Klingklang once more with its wing. The Pokemon fell back, gears already slowing down as it fell into unconsciousness. The female grunt stared in surprise as the Klingklang crashed into the ground next to her. Then, with a growl, she sprang up and drew her katana in front of her, trying to get a good hit on Unfezant.

"No, you don't," Cheren hissed. Unfezant flew up to avoid the attack, but the grunt was more agile than he expected. Her katana sliced across Unfezant's chest and over its wing, the steel gaining an odd ringing sound as it cut flesh.

Unfezant gave a single, shrill cry and tumbled from the sky onto the earth, Cheren still astride it. The two of them rolled across the ground, Unfezant's heavy body crushing the wind out of his lungs until they came to a stop. Cheren could feel wetness on his cheeks and on his hands, and he knew that it was Unfezant's blood.

"Shit!" he cried, rolling the bird over to look at the grisly wound on its chest. Unfezant cooed weakly.

"Don't die, please don't die," he wept, tears pouring down his face as he examined the cut. It was deep; maybe too deep. The feathers around the slash were matted with blood, and the cut wing flopped weakly on the ground as Unfezant attempted to right itself.

"No!" he yelled. "You've got to stay down. Don't hurt yourself any more, Unfezant. Oh, Arceus, please don't die. Don't die!"

"Unfeeeee..." the bird murmured.

"Y-you're going to be alright, Unfezant. After this battle, I...I'll get you somewhere safe. Okay? Okay, Unfezant?"

"Unfeeeeeeeeee..."

Cheren took out Unfezant's Pokeball and returned it, the bird vanishing and retracting into a ray of scarlet light. Suddenly, he felt a weariness pressing down on him, one he hadn't noticed until now. What was the point of all this fighting? Where was the reason in this madness, the rationality in a sea of bloodshed? All around him, there were cries and screams from the wounded, and blood from the wounds of multiple beings matted the grass. By fighting, didn't they realize they were becoming just what Zinzolin wanted them to be? Mindless monsters who really only used their Pokemon for warfare with no regard for them whatsoever? He felt disgusted with himself for neglecting the safety of his Unfezant, and his other Pokemon as well.

Zinzolin! Where was the fucking sage? He was going to strangle him if he ever got the chance-

A shadow loomed over him and he turned to see the female grunt from before, katana raised above her head. Blood from the blade dripped into her hair, but she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were crazed and bloodshot. Cheren realized that she had a very dangerous weapon...while he didn't. He was utterly defenseless.

"What's the matter, little boy?" she asked, her voice high-pitched. "Did I hurt your birdie?"

He felt an immense anger towards this woman. Without thinking, he snarled, "You've got blood in your hair, you ugly piece of shit. My bird's blood is in your hair, you emotionless asshole."

Her features twisted into something uglier, her mouth curving in a sickle-shaped smile. "Brave words, you brat. Maybe you won't be as brave when I cut out your yucky little tongue."

She raised the katana and prepared to bring it down. He closed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable to happen.

Only, it didn't. He heard a crunching sound a looked to see the grunt flying away, slammed by a large green tail. Clay was standing in front of him, Tyranitar and Rhyperior in tow. All three looked tired.

"Well?" Clay demanded. "Aren't ya gonna get up and keep fightin'?"

"What's the point?"

"What's the point?" Clay's face turned Tamato-berry red. "Are you out of your mind? _What's the point_? I'll tell you what the point is-"

"All this time we've been focusing on the small fry when really, we should have been targeting," Cheren turned his head towards Zinzolin, calmly overseeing everything from his vantage point atop a hill, "the leader."

Clay turned and saw what Cheren saw. His mood relaxed visibly. "Ah. I see what you mean. So for the last hour or so, we've been doin' nothin' but deal with the little guys when the big guy was so easily accessible?" He bared his teeth in a nasty grin. "I say we remedy that problem."

"Let's," Cheren agreed. He whistled, the piercing sound barely audible above the cacophony of battle. "Haxorus! Vanilluxe! Heatmor! Simipour! Serperior! By my side, now!"

His Pokemon burst through the chaos, all of them looking slightly worse for wear but all blazing with courage. He ordered them to follow him and Clay, and, with that order, they set out to find Zinzolin.

Together, the two of them rushed through the crowd and towards where Zinzolin stood. The Sage spotted them easily and sneered, lifting a hand and gesturing for his Bronzong to move out. The steel creatures lifted gently from their hovering perches and began to circle around the Sage, forming a continuous ring around him.

"Well, well, well," he said as Cheren and Clay approached. "Come to receive your judgment?"

"The only judgment you'll be gettin' is from Giratina himself when I send you to Hell," Clay seethed.

Zinzolin chuckled, which only served to inflame Clay's anger even more. "Ah, such ignorance. You really believe you are capable of besting me? One of the Seven Sages? Ghetsis gathered us not only for our intellect, you know. He also gathered us because we," he gave a short clap, "are able to hold our own against opponents far stronger than a businessman and a child."

Immediately, the four Bronzong alligned themselves in a row, bodies aglow with blue energy. Letting out a tinkling call, they spun their arms forward and sent a shockwave of psychic energy spiraling towards Clay and Cheren.

"Mirror Coat," Cheren intoned.

Vanilluxe shot forward, the air around it pulsating with power. Stopping suddenly, the two-headed Pokemon sent out a wave of glassy energy. As soon as Psychic met the Mirror Coat, the two energies enveloped each other and cannonballed back at Zinzolin. Smiling, Zinzolin simply snapped his fingers and a blue wall appeared, taking the force of the attack before shattering into individual shards.

"Commendable, young man," said the Sage. "But is that the best you can do?"

Cheren grinned. "Not the best that _I _can do, but maybe you've forgotten about someone else."

"Trying to be witty, eh?" Zinzolin smirked.

"Oh, not quite." Cheren glanced at Clay and saw the Gym Leader restraining a smile. "Are you sure you aren't missing something?"

"What are you babbling abo-"

Zinzolin said no more, for at that moment Clay's previously unseen Excadrill burst from the ground directly under the fleet of Bronzong. Its body compacted into a drill shape, it shot like a torpedo for one of the metal creatures, rotating at an incredible speed. Excadrill smashed into the Bronzong, hammering it into the ground before leaping away and bringing its arms apart.

"Excaaa," it rumbled. The Bronzong it had attacked was motionless.

"Damn it!" Zinzolin growled. "What the-"

"Not all Bronzong have Levitate, Zinzolin. Did you forget that?" Cheren asked, feeling rather smug. "It seems that the one Excadrill just took down had Heatproof, and was therefore susceptible to Dig. How about we test this theory again?"

"Earthquake!" Clay shouted, as the same time as Cheren called out, "Flamethrower! Dragon Pulse! Ice Beam!"

"Protect!" Zinzolin roared, eyes darting about wildly as though he could anticipate the location of each attack. Excadrill drove a claw into the ground at the same time as Rhyperior slammed its fists down and Tyranitar gave an earth-shaking roar, tendrils of orange light seeping from their skin. The ground quaked, jagged rifts forming in the earth.

A sphere of blue light formed around Zinzolin and the Bronzong, encompassing the entire group. The seams in the earth collided with the barrier, making the entire dome shiver as glass-like peals rang from the bubble. Near the bottom, cracks worked their way up to the top before the shield mended itself, rays of light shooting from the Bronzong and sealing the apertures before they could spread far.

From Cheren's Pokemon, a jet of roaring fire burst from Heatmor and slammed against the barrier, splashing over it and clearing away as Dragon Pulse hit. There was an audible crack as part of the barrier collapsed inward, then a strange sound of air being drawn back in as the crack righted itself. Even as the Dragon Pulse faded, Ice Beam struck with a sound like glass breaking. Ice rapidly spread over the surface of the barrier, crystallizing around the dome with alarming speed. Zinzolin snarled, and with a single psychic pulse, the Bronzong shattered the ice.

"Gyro Ball!" he yelled. One of the Bronzong levitated in place and began spinning, rotating faster and faster until it was a twister of blue. Its arms lit with a silvery glow, and shooting outward like a rocket, it rammed into Excadrill. The mole gave out a groan as the dual-type's heavy mass collided with it, pinning it to the ground. Even as Excadrill skidded across a sheet of rock, Bronzong righted itself and flung a bulbous orb of darkness at it. Connecting, the orb exploded in a cloud of violet-tinged smoke, phantom energies from the Shadow Ball still lingering in the air. Excadrill let out a wounded howl and charged forward, summoning a ring of stones around itself and shooting them at Bronzong. With a flick of its arm, the sturdy Pokemon deflected the volley away and concentrated on Excadrill, body shrouded in blue fire. There was a pop, and Excadrill was thrown into the air. Gently pulling an arm back down, Bronzong sent Excadrill plummeting headlong into the ground, where it crashed with a horrible cracking sound.

Clay's face turned white and he tossed a Pokeball forward, tendrils of blue light peeking from its seam and pouring out, shaping itself into a bulky, monstrous form. Seismitoad stood, ready for battle.

"Scald!" Clay roared, voice filled with anger. Giving a throaty cry, the Seismitoad loosed a jet of boiling-hot water at the Bronzong. Caught unaware, the stream connected with its back and sent the creature sprawling, its body slamming into the ground. The grand etchings that had once adorned were now either cracked or melted, and a small network of lines ran over its back. It raised a fingerless arm, sending out a wall of energy that barely managed to absorb the force of an incoming Mud Bomb.

"Before deliverance, there must be atonement!" howled Zinzolin, spittle flying from his mouth. The lone Bronzong shot forward, arms spinning like blades as it cannoned head-on into Seismitoad. The Pokemon, bulky as it was, was pushed back several feet before it came to a stop, face contorted in pain though its arms were fastened tightly around the Bronzong's head.

"Brick Break!" shouted Clay, and Seismitoad gave a croak by ways of assent, raising a massive hand over its head and bringing it down on the Bronzong with lethal force. Though it was an artificial creature supposedly incapable of pain, the Bronzong gave a ringing cry as the hand met with its body and smashed into it, leaving a sizeable dent in its torso. Once again, it glowed with power, and shoved at Seismitoad with all the telekinetic force it could generate. The toad let go, the air around it shuddering, distorted by the Bronzong's psychic power.

"You're crazy!" Cheren yelled. "Your plan will never work! Deliverance by destruction? Salvation by beating your opinions into the defenseless? What kind of a world is that?"

His Serperior coiled and sprang into the air, tail end shining with a radiant green light and curved into a wickedly sharp sickle. With a hiss, it swiped its scythe-like blade across the Bronzong, leaving a thin gash over its face. The metal creature gave a shuddering sigh and sent forth a pulse of psychokinetic power, driving Serperior back. Haxorus was next, loosing a brilliant burst of flame from its mouth. Bronzong thrust its arms out, sending a squall of luminous energy forward to intercept the blast. The raging flames parted harmlessly to the sides of the barrier. Behind it, Simipour and Vanilluxe readied dual Blizzards, both unleashing whirling storms of ice and snow at once. The chilling gale swept over Bronzong, leaving flakes of white on its surface. The creature lashed out, and both primate and icy entity were blown back.

"You ask me why?" retorted Zinzolin, flanked by his two Bronzong. "The Herdier does not know obedience, and so it must be taught before it receives coddling. Penance before paradise. My king has a glorious new world planned for us all, but some unruly souls...must be taught a lesson first." He thrust a hand forward. "Both of you, Psychic!"

With a shriek, the barrier collapsed upon itself, gravitating towards the two Bronzong and diminishing until there was nothing but two voluminous pinpricks of light. The Bronzong swept their arms out, and a deafening roar accompanied by brilliant cannons of psychic energy shot out from their chests and towards Clay and Cheren.

"Quick, Serperior! Use Protect!" commanded Cheren.

The snake leapt in front of him, a glowing barrier fizzling into existence as the twin beams struck. Cheren felt himself flying backward from the intensity of it, his eyes blinded by the sight. Just as quickly as they had hit, the rays dwindled away until they were no more. Clay, getting back up on his feet, glared at the Sage.

"So ya think you can do that by teachin' abuse? Dispensin' pain? That's no way to gain allegiance from your people. That's how ya lose followers. That kind of mindset is what's gonna bring you a painful end, Zinzolin."

Zinzolin chortled. "Idiots! You do not yet understand my king's grand scheme. In time, the people shall willingly accept us as their governors, their leaders through their darkest periods. When the citizens of this region rise up against you, disruptors and perpetrators, what shall you do?"

"Against _us_?" Cheren asked with incredulity. "What the hell gave you that bizarre notion? _You _guys are the enemy, and after all the shit you gave Nimbasa and the rest of Unova, there's no chance that the citizens will be unable to make a distinction between friend and foe." He scowled. "By inciting the masses, you only produce more hatred for yourselves."

"Hatred and adoration come hand in hand. Soon, boy. Soon, you and your fanatical ideas will be extinguished by your own mind once you realize the glory of our Lord N."

"I'd just like to see you try!" Cheren spat back.

"Minds are difficult to change, though are just as easily conquerable as people," sneered Zinzolin. "Pure destruction, on the other hand, is the easiest of all to do. Bronzong, Shadow Ball!"

Four dark spheres soared through the skies and towards them. Cheren and Clay dodged it as the orbs smashed into the space where they had been standing, sending up a plume of smoke.

"Flamethrower! Full power!" Cheren cried.

"Tyranitar, hit 'em with Dark Pulse!" ordered Clay.

Haxorus and Heatmor both released swirling jets of fire, the fiery missiles seeking the lone, unprotected Bronzong from before. As the other two once again raised their shields, the single Bronzong crossed its arms and generated a weak Protect. The blasts shattered the barrier upon impact, molecules scattering into the wind as the Bronzong fell to the ground. Clay's Tyranitar was right behind Haxorus and Heatmor, a sparking circle of pitch-black light surrounding its body. With a primal howl, it unleashed the sinister pulse of energy at Bronzong. Unprotected, the Dark Pulse cleaved into the creature's side, severing one of its arms and creating a thick gash on its metal skin. Steel screeched in protest as the energy threatened to go even further. Cheren could see the metal straining, beginning to tear at the relentless assault from the black wave. Finally, with painful screech, the Bronzong hurtled several feet away, giving a single pitiful moan before drifting into darkness.

Zinzolin muttered a string of oaths as he returned both of his fallen Bronzong from where they lay. He fixed his eyes on Cheren, pupils black with fury. Cheren did not shrink back; he held his ground and faced Zinzolin defiantly.

"Insolence," the elderly Sage rasped. "You shall not prevail."

"I think we shall," said Cheren. "People-especially the oppressed-have a strength you cannot imagine. Try and see if you can stop us, you asshole."

"My boy, I will make you eat those nasty words."

"I'll take you up on that challenge, then. Vanilluxe, Blizzard!"

A howling storm swirled around the dome, snowflakes and hail whipping around in a coordinated frenzy. Vanilluxe's two heads giggled happily and belched gouts of frosty air from its mouths. The gale soon subsided, showing no damage to the dome save for a few icy patches.

Cheren gritted his teeth and drew back as a Shadow Ball ricocheted past his head. Zinzolin's defenses were proving to be hard to penetrate. Protect was a failsafe move; it would repel any attack, regardless of power. However, he remembered that as it kept being used, the likelihood of its effects taking hold lessened, giving the opponent-_him_-a better chance of landing a blow.

As he was pondering this, he heard a young voice scream, "For Driftveil City!"

A crackling net of lightning slammed against the shield, sizzling tendrils squirming around as if they had a life of their own. Turning his head, Cheren glimpsed Alec and his Galvantula charging toward Zinzolin at a breakneck pace, his face flushed and his shirt stained with soot and what looked suspiciously like poison. He watched as he boy came closer and closer, as reckless as ever. Zinzolin seemed to smile and beckoned the boy forward, one of his remaining Bronzong already whirring madly like a dervish, arms aglow.

The sight snapped him out of his stupor and he yelled, "Alec, get back here!" But the boy paid no attention to his shouts and kept charging on. The spinning Bronzong rose slowly above Zinzolin's head, positioning itself before shooting at Alec like a bullet. Alec heard the whirring and looked up, eyes wide and slackjawed as the spinning creature drew closer and closer...

Muscles rippling, Cheren's Serperior slithered across the ground, coiling itself in a protective gesture around the boy while it raised an emerald Protect in front of them. With a crack, Bronzong struck the shield and passed through, hurtling at Serperior with an alarming intensity. Cheren recalled his own thoughts and suddenly, his mind went blank as he watched Bronzong driving both Serperior and Alec backward. Boy and snake tumbled head-over-heels, collapsing into a little heap some ten feet away from where they started.

The Bronzong swiveled its head, focusing on them with a cold, precise stare that made him shiver. It raised an arm to attack, a grain of pitch-black sand nestled in the crook of its arm. The grain tripled, swelling into three swirling orbs of an abyssal color. Without thinking and barely hearing the words as he said them, he commanded his Haxorus to use Flamethrower. The draconian beast let out a massive flurry of fire, the burning deluge intercepted by three dark bullets that shot from the Bronzong. Shooting out of the collision, the Bronzong hurtled towards Alec and Serperior with the intent to kill.

"Get away from them!" he heard himself shriek. His Heatmor darted forward, tongues of flame lapping from its mouth. Fiery golden circles appeared and were drawn inside it, its inner caldera heating up as it shot a Fire Blast at the attacking Bronzong. The dual-type flicked an arm, and the roaring inferno rebounded, shaping itself into a monstrous dragon and curving back towards Heatmor. Vanilluxe floated in front of the Fire-type, calling up yet another Blizzard. As the icy and fiery energies met, clouds of steam issued from the resulting collision. The fire won out, breaking through the churning storm and wreathing itself around Vanilluxe. The Ice-type screamed in agony, wailing so sharply and painfully that Cheren could not hear anything save for the suffering cries of his own Pokemon. The flames cleared and Vanilluxe toppled over, flesh seared a terrible black and mouths moving in pained synchrony.

He ran over to his Vanilluxe, careful not to touch it lest he worsen its pain. He felt his throat getting choked up, watching as one of his friends moaned and twisted in a paroxysm of anguish. With trembling fingers, he returned it to its Pokeball, slumping weakly onto the ground. The carnage...it sickened him. He had to end it soon. No, he had to end it _now_.

Hearing a hiss from his Serperior, he got to his feet with renewed vigor and ran over to his wounded snake and Alec. Miraculously, Serperior had sustained little injury from the attack, though he noticed it moved stiffer than usual. Pinned underneath it, Alec grinned weakly at him, one of his arms hanging limply by his side. He bit down hard on his lip when Cheren moved to examine it.

"Broken," Cheren said in a dull voice. "Your arm is broken."

"No worries. I've broken bones before."

Feeling his rage reach a boiling point, he shouted, "Do you realize the dangers of what you just did? Do you realize that you could have just died? Do you realize my Serperior could have just died trying to protect you because _you _were being _irresponsible_?"

"I'm sorry, Ch-"

"Look out!" Pulling the boy close to him, he dived onto the ground as a beam of energy whizzed over them. Swearing, he got back up, dragging Alec with him. The boy was white-faced.

"Move! Move!" Cheren yelled as cannons of light issued from Bronzong, its body cocooned in blue. Galvantula scuttled towards them, panicked and wildly discharging electrical sparks.

"Use Fire Blast!" he commanded, and Heatmor loosed a devastating torrent of fire at the Bronzong. Blue energy congealed and solidified, and the fire passed harmlessly through it. Far away, he heard Zinzolin laugh. He felt his blood boil.

"I will end you!" he screamed. "Haxorus, Outrage!"

A spectacular array of kaleidoscopic flames burst from the Dragon, tendrils of fire dancing every which way. Arcing around, the burning lances rebounded against the Bronzong's shield. For a moment, though, Cheren could see the shield flicker. This gave him hope. The Bronzong were running out of chances. They were losing their edge.

"Earth Power!"

Rhyperior slammed a fist into the ground, and underneath the Bronzong a geyser of liquefied rock erupted, splattering against the creature's underside. Bronzong floated away, shooting a volley of dark spheres at Rhyperior, who dodged. As molten rock dripped off of the Pokemon, pieces of its metal skin fell off with it.

"Thunderbolt!"

Tyranitar growled and its whole body lit up with hundreds of writhing bolts of electricity. Stamping down a foot, it shot a lance of lightning at the Bronzong, blasting the creature away and leaving a smoking hole in its chest. Zinzolin stared at his felled Pokemon, as if he couldn't quite understand what had just happened.

"Galvantula, Signal Beam!"

Galvantula chittered and blasted the barrier with a stream of aurora-like colors, patterns of light streaking throughout the beam. Rebounding against the shield with a report like a thunderclap, the ray dispersed. Alec called out another command, and this time a yellow wave of light ricocheted from Galvantula's torso and slammed against the Protect with tremendous force.

"You will challenge me as well, child?" leered Zinzolin. "Very well then. You may join the rest of your pitiful colleagues in your fruitless struggle."

"It's not the age of the challenger, but the conviction inside 'em that counts!" shouted Clay. "If you had half an idea about how the strength of the spirit, you'd be much better at understandin' how we fight."

"The strength of the spirit? What an amusing term," scoffed the Sage. "As with the mind, it too can be altered-or crushed, if need be."

"You're nothing but a coldhearted bastard who cares nothing for the wellfare of the people or the Pokemon!" shouted Cheren. "And like all the other coldhearted bastards throughout history, you'll be defeated."

"I seriously doubt that," snarled the Sage, "but I shall allow you a chance..."

A jet of green fire burst from Haxorus' mouth and splashed against the shield, sending a spiderweb of cracks rippling through it. Though the barrier held true, it phased out for a brief second before flickering back into existence. However, it was too late. Everyone had seen it. Including Zinzolin.

The Sage's breath was labored, his fists clenched. He had only one Pokemon left, while they had far more on their side. It was evident that he was outnumbered. His mouth worked furiously, barking a single stream of words.

"Bronzong, _use_-"

Before he could finish uttering his command, they all called out a string of orders. Cheren felt a growing satisfaction as fear shone through the old man's eyes. One by one, their Pokemon sent out dazzling streams of fire and ice, bullets of rock, jets of water, and rays of otherwordly energies too radiant for them to look upon. An entire cavalcade of attacks descended upon Zinzolin and his only Bronzong, and he saw that it was over for the Sage. He had overused Protect; now, the barrier would fail when he needed it most.

_What's that, old fart? Didn't think we could do it, huh? I guess we proved you wrong._

The explosion that ensued was even more brilliant than the combined Fissures of the Dugtrio. Incongruous elements all colliding and merging in a spectacular shower of energy. Great plumes of smoke rose and fell in varying patterns as each attack landed, sending shivers through the dome. There was a howl like the final breath of a storm, and Cheren observed that even through the gray clouds surrounding the shield, he could see slivers of it already peeling away.

The smoke finally cleared, and Cheren felt an emptiness reaching into the depths of his core when he saw that the barrier, though battered, still stood. It was only until he looked at the satisfied smile on Clay's face and the utter hopelessness in Zinzolin's that he realized: it was breaking down.

Huge shards of cerulean glass showered down, tinkling and shattering into dust as they touched the ground. Zinzolin watched it all with a despairing look in his eyes. His last Bronzong heaved a great groan and fell.

"Your fault, Zinzolin," Clay said, "was that you were too conceited. That's what you get when you put too much stock in a single entity. In this case, it was your king-no, your own power." The Gym Leader looked almost melancholy as he spoke. "That's why you'll never win. Because y'all are too prideful. As they say, pride cometh before a fall, and I daresay your big fall's comin' right about now, Zinzolin. Game over."

"No..." the Sage muttered. "I...I cannot be defeated by the likes of you. I was appointed by Ghetsis himself, the wisest of our group! I received the blessings of the king to further his cause! I had conviction! I was mighty, and you were but insects to be crushed for Lord N's dream!" He looked frantic. "This is absurd!"

"Absurd?" whispered Cheren, deathly quiet. "I'll tell you what's absurd." He looked the Sage in the eye, walking boldly forward. "It's you, Zinzolin. I think you're the most pathetic person I've ever met. A being so disillusioned with himself that he fancies himself an undefeatable god. A falsely assumed avenging angel who dares to deliver what he calls justice, but is really just sadism." He thrust an accusing finger at the Sage. "You lied! All you people ever wanted was to harness the power of Pokemon for yourself! Deep down, everyone could see through the thin facade that you called 'Pokemon liberation.' Still, they dared to hope that your dreams were genuine, that you really believed in what you preached. You disproved that by cutting them down, mowing them under your feet to further your own selfish needs.

"You have the audacity to talk about liberation, but you're just a coward, Zinzolin. You're all cowards, the damned lot of you. It's _you _who should be cleansed, not us. It's _you _who needs to reevaluate your dreams. Touko White fought for what she believed. I can't say the same for you, though."

Angrily, Cheren held fast to the old man's withering gaze. Clay grinned.

"Fine words, Cheren, but it's 'bout time we finished this loser off." He turned to the two hulking Pokemon beside him. "Care to do the honors?"

The two titans nodded. Mouths open, they began charging up power, white spheres blossoming on their tongues.

"N-no..." Zinzolin pleaded. "I cannot...I was..."

The spheres grew to ten times their size, burgeoning into moon-like orbs. Waves of heat shimmered around the spheres, flickering and surging through the space around it.

"Ignorance! You shall be cleansed! This whole city shall be cleansed!" Zinzolin was practically rabid, all sense of composure lost. "Filth! Filthy, unworthy denizens! The white dragon offers you absolution, yet you spurn its graces? How dare you! _How dare you_!"

The orbs dimmed until they looked like tiny stars nestled in the mouths of the Tyranitar and Rhyperior. With an earsplitting howl, two Hyper Beams shot out, aimed directly at the cowering Zinzolin.

"Impurities shall be driven from this town! Bathed in the fire of justice, you shall all be purified! Our king demands it! Long live the king! Long live the-"

A pillar of energy enveloped Zinzolin and the hill on which he stood, skyrocketing into the air like a magnificent tower. A powerful current swept through the surrounding area, sending Cheren and Alec tumbling backward. Cheren squinted, turning away from the light. The wind howled. Heat greater than any sun's radiated from the blast.

Then, it was over. The pillar thinned, dissolving into a singular point of eminence that quickly disintegrated. Cheren helped Alec back up, the boy looking awestruck by what he had just seen. A line of blood trickled from a shallow cut near his ear, but he seemed not to notice.

"That was...that was...awesome," he said.

Cheren gazed at the smoking remains of the charred hill. Zinzolin would have surely been vaporized by the blast. The Bronzong who had stood by him until the end was lying on a patch of dry earth, missing an arm and part of its face.

There was complete silence on the battlefield, every shocked into muteness by the spectacle they had just witnessed. Grunts and trainers paused in their fighting, eyes locked on the spot where Zinzolin had stood.

"I-is that it?" He felt too scared to ask the question, as if doing so might somehow bring the Sage back to life.

"It is," Clay answered, voice weary. He pulled his cowboy hat off and draped it over his shoulder.

"The city...it's safe. We beat the big guy."

"Not just yet," Clay murmured, glancing at the grunts still assembled. "We've still got a hell of a job to do."

"Then we better do it, right?"

Clay gave him a tentative smile. "You bet-"

At that point, a thunderous sound issued from the hill, a deafening cacophony of voices that had Cheren, Clay and their Pokemon reeling. The smoke shifted, shooting away from the blast site in a wave of gray. Alec looked alarmed.

"What's happening? We beat the bad guy, right?"

"We did. We definitely did," Cheren said, all the while feeling an unease in the pit of his stomach. _There's no way Zinzolin could have survived. That was a double Hyper Beam...without the caps. Arceus only knows how powerful a single cap-less Hyper Beam could be. But that was two. And unless I'm mistaken, we took out all of that guy's Bronzong. He has to be dead._

_He has to be. Right?_

The voices were sharp, all of them drowning each other out in their eagerness to speak. Tendrils of violet arched into the air, swinging about lazily. Abruptly, he felt his mouth go dry and his skin prickle as an unsettling, foul odor washed over him; a funerary smell bearing the scents of rotting flesh and soil. A smell that just felt _unholy_, bearing with it the unmistakable presence of something truly evil.

"Clay?"

"Cheren, I got no clue what's goin' on right now..."

With difficulty, he swallowed. Clay was as shellshocked as he was. That was not good. Not good at all.

From the hole where Zinzolin had supposedly been blasted into smithereens, a dark shape arose. With a start, Cheren realized it was Zinzolin himself-_how the hell was that possible_?-but he was wreathed in some sort of energy. As he watched, that energy detached itself from Zinzolin's body and swirled in the air, exuding a dreadful aura of malevolence and hatred and an _I-will-fucking-rip-your-heart-out-and-eat-it _feeling. The thing shaped itself into a whirling purple vortex, face ringed by sickly green orbs that looked like blisters. Its mouth was sharp-toothed and distinctly reminiscent of a Jack-o-lantern. It cackled, and Cheren felt an overwhelming urge to vomit when he heard its voice and the disjointed, sinister babble that issued from it. Oh Arceus, that thing was hideous. Hideous and horrifying. He tried to move, but couldn't, paralyzed by the phantasm that floated in the sky.

A cracked brown stone rose up after it and a single snaking tendril from the being latched onto the rock, instantly lighting up a jagged crack down the middle with fuchsia light. Immediately, its body was shrouded in darkness, and he could smell an open coffin, could picture a corpse right inside, all bony-white and littered with scraps of flesh so decomposed and crawling with little _things _that it was absolutely repugnant and he couldn't bear to look at it for a second longer-

"My God, what the hell is that?" Clay whispered. Behind him, Alec quivered on the ground, face white as death and his hands pressed over his ears, his face twisted into a rictus mask of horror. Cheren's entire _being _recoiled at the wind-like whispers swirling over his consciousness, filling them with a sound so quiet yet so loud that he could not drown it out.

Zinzolin himself finally stood up, smirking. Not a single inch of fabric on his robe was singed. Not a single piece of flesh was burnt black. His entire body was perfectly preserved, completely undamaged. Grinning like he had just told an obscenely funny joke, he spread his arms wide and proclaimed with the zeal of a madman, "Behold! Behold the power that has been gifted to me by Ghetsis! Behold the legion of 108 souls, the chariot of damnation! Behold the Forbidden Pokemon: Spiritomb."

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**Edited as of 5/7. Thank you for your critique, /DemosthenesLocke101/.**


	6. Chapter 5: Des Königs Spielzeug-Teil 3

**A/N: Really sorry for the wait, guys. I seriously am. Thanks for waiting, even after all those delays and stuff. Crazy stuff has been happening (weather, schoolwork, etc.) and my updating has not been consistent. Sorry for that. I'll try to get better, promise. :( That's my apology for my extreme lateness. Again, sorry.**

**Thank you to all the new favorites/followers! You guys make my day, and the fact that you've remained even with my inconsistent schedule proves how awesome you are. :) And, thanks to the following people for reviewing Chapter 5: _CycloneJet, Xx-Love-NOT-War-xX, Blu Rose, ikutolover182, Aldruthe Brovahkiin, Guest (5/6), Koneko29, accadian, DemosthenesLocke101, TheEighthHeapChild, The Light's Refrain, TwinSunsOfMars, darkviola, zephyrwindstorm8, OpenDoorLeia, Torta-Verde, we-are-the-wicked-ones, EmpyreanHost19, Haine-Chan, gaeiaangelis, dark-depths-of-space, Ysavvryl, monochromatic, vector'sangel, aliceelric7, _and _hydrarian._**

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"If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?"

-Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, "The Gulag Archipelago 1919-1956"

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**CHAPTER 5: Des Königs Spielzeug-Teil 3** (_The King's Toys-Part 3_)

High in the air, the gleaming silver helicopter drifted lazily across the clouds, buzzing like a great metal Yanmega. Surrounded by others of its same size and coloration, the squadron closely resembled a cloud of the winged insects, their slim build and wing-like rotors giving off a distinctly Bug-like feel. Through tinted glass windows sat grunts dressed in black, each one of them staring ahead with inscrutable expressions beneath their masks as they carefully guided the fleet towards their destination.

Sitting at the center of it all, Ghetsis poured himself another round of tea and brought the scalding liquid to his lips. Blowing lightly to reduce the heat, he sipped. The bitter taste immediately burst upon his tongue and ran down his throat, carrying with it an astringent note from the leaves and a mild sweetness from the sugar. The tea was Earl Gray, and one of the more expensive varieties at that. He savored the taste as it lingered in his mouth, smacking his lips. There really was nothing quite like a good cup of tea to warm the body on a cold day such as this. Setting down the cup by its delicate dragon-shaped handle, he spooned in another half-teaspoon of sugar and swirled it around, the bone-white particles instantly dissolving and diluting the mixture.

Dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, he proceeded to open his laptop, typing in his 16-word password with the effortless dexterity of an efficient man well-accustomed to the more mundane aspects of technology. Or simply a man whose ambidextrous fingers allowed him to type much faster than the average individual. With his left hand, he keyed in the appropriate combination of numbers and letters and waited for his desktop to load while with his right he added milk to his tea with the precise measurements of a pharmacist, neither movement delayed or rendered laggard by the other.

Scrolling to his inbox, he opened it up and saw that he had received three new e-mails. One was from Gorm, which he decided to open first. Gorm had sent him a short clip of some video feed captured by one of the grunts showing an angry group of protesters clustered around Plasma's central operations building in Castelia. The tape was approximately three minutes and five seconds long, culminating in the windows of the building being systematically shattered by Molotov cocktails, rocks, and even sloppily crafted but effective bombs, each missile crashing through the glass, detonating in the case of the first and the last items, and eliciting uproarious cries from the group gathered below.

_Though we have managed to win over most of the city's population, you can clearly see that the situation is not entirely under control. As of April 30, our forces have suffered nearly fifty casualties, thirty-nine of which are injuries and the other fifteen being deaths. Requesting additional reinforcements diverted from Nimbasa or sent from HQ._

-_Gorm_

His frown only deepend as he read the message enclosed at the bottom of the video, urging him to supply the city with at least 100 more members. Castelia was a big city. In a metropolis encompassing over 900,000 people, nearly 80% of the aforementioned population in possession of at least one Pokemon, one could not expect to run it with a force of only 500 grunts. He realized his own error in sending such a small force to Castelia, underestimating how savagely the populace would react. Quickly, he typed back a reply, assuring the Sage that the matter would be resolved soon. Gorm would have his reinforcements by the end of the week; that he was sure of.

The second message was from Giallo, and was merely a summary of the progress he and his team had made in reconstructing Nacrene. In weeks, they had been able to secure the city completely, even after facing some resistance from Lenora and her Gym. The residents, surprisingly, were passive and had allowed the grunts in with an unusual lack of hostility, a fact that Ghetsis welcomed. In the e-mail, Giallo asked for monetary aid in reconstructing several abandoned warehouses into military bunkers for the slew of troops sure to arrive in another month or so. Dashing off another paragraph, he gave Giallo the clearance to withdraw a sum of 700,000 dollars from the team's funds, contenting himself with the fact that Castelia was already providing them with enough revenue to cover the deduction.

The final e-mail had no title, and his laptop identified the message as being from an anonymous sender. Clicking on it, a dark window instantly appeared on the center of his screen, minimizing his inbox as it did so. The window was pure black, save for a white question mark located at the very center of the square. As he watched, the question mark shifted, morphing liquidly into a thin number one underscored by an even thinner line, both of which were still rendered in chalk-white.

There was a quiet, crackly sound. Ghetsis adjusted the volume on the laptop's speakers and picked up his cup once again, filling it to the brim and dumping in a precise amount of sugar. As he took a sip, the crackle evolved into an audible human voice, yet the sound was distorted so the voice came out at an unnaturally childish high pitch intermingled with a distinct robotic undertone.

He took a drink, then said, "Shadow One. Speak."

"My lord." There was a slight pause at the other end before the voice resumed. "There's been an update regarding the trail of Professor Fennel."

"Oh?"

"We've been tracking her movements for a week now and we have deduced that she is somewhere in Mistralton City at this moment. Her cellphone signal has been subdued for two days, which leads us to assume that she's either not had it in use or figured where the tracker attached to it was and has disposed of it accordingly."

"Do you have an idea which one it is?"

"We think it's the latter theory. Just yesterday, we picked up a communications line of someone with her vocal tone attempting to solicit a meeting with Professor Juniper."

"She didn't make any attempts to disguise her voice?"

"The transmission came from a public line, so I doubt she had the technology available with her at the time to perform the necessary operations to distort the quality of their conversation. She was speaking only to one of the Professor's assistants, however. Professor Juniper herself has been quiet for the past two weeks."

"Playing it safe, I see. Did the nature of their conversation concern anything other than arranging a meeting with Juniper?"

"She talked about acquiring a small supply of Ultra Balls."

"Ultra Balls?" He took another drink. "Expensive, but certainly not out of the way in terms of obtainment. Possible reasons for contacting the Professor instead of simply purchasing them from a PokeMart?"

"It's probable that she's assumed a new identity. Her motives do hint that she's trying to flee the region."

"What would her need for Ultra Balls be?"

Another pause. "A day ago, we discovered that she had deposited her Musharna in the Pokemon Storage System a few hours prior to her departure from Striaton. At the moment, she appears to be weaponless and therefore powerless, which leads me to think-"

"-that she needs to capture a few high-level Pokemon for protection. Understandable. And Chargestone Cave is relatively close to Mistralton. The Pokemon inside are only intermediate when it comes to power, though." Sip. "She's planning on catching something stronger, then?"

"Her sales record indicates that she asked for twenty Ultra Balls. Given the catch rate of Ultra Balls on high-level wild Pokemon and the quantity she asked to purchase, it's likely that whatever she's planning to catch should be near level 50 or perhaps even closer to 60."

Ghetsis stirred in a spoonful of milk, the liquid billowing like a cloud as it was dropped into the tea, ballooning outwards. Stirring it gently with the spoon, he took in One's words. "Quite an audacious venture. Though, to my knowledge, there aren't any Pokemon near that level of strength in Mistralton or the area surrounding it."

"That's what's strange about the situation. The Pokemon around Mistralton are mostly in their mid-thirties in terms of power, none of them requiring so many Ultra Balls for a single capture. We have considered that she could be trying to instigate a trade with someone, and the prospect seems the likeliest option she would take, considering her current path."

"A transfer, you mean? You can't swap an empty Ultra Ball for a full one. The PokeCenter systems automatically detect these types of things."

"Precisely."

The helicopter broke through a puffy white cumulus clouds, the rotors churning the white wisps and tearing them like tissue paper as the vehicle passed straight through, leaving a dispersed group of ethereal clumps far behind. Ghetsis paid no attention to this occurrence, however, as he continued, "Have you any idea who she might be have in mind for the transfer?"

"Professor Juniper is a candidate, but her assistant, Amanita, could also be helping her from afar. Amanita is the most favorable choice since she has an innate knowledge of the Storage System and could easily retrieve a Pokemon and send it to Fennel. Or, if the system was locked, she could still hack into it by overriding the primary security protocols." Pause; crackle on the other end. "She _did _help upgrade several of the key security features. She also designed many of them herself. Plus, she has the authorization necessary to do so without arousing suspicion." Quiet. "It's all well within her range of possibility, as well as Fennel's."

He gave a world-weary sigh, taking a heavy drag from the cup, the fine china perfectly smooth and pearlescent. This time around, however, the normally soothing blend of Earl Gray, sugar, and milk did little to assuage his growing irritation with Fennel. Since her disappearance from Striaton days before One and his legion arrived, he had been diverting a fair amount of his resources into tracking the Professor down. She had quickly proved as elusive and enigmatic as her research into the subconscious, primarily the state of dreaming, was. Her movements appeared to be random and executed with little regard for the grunts in the area. Yet, it had almost been a month and there was still little progress being made on the Professor's capture and subsequent trial, followed by imprisonment. Now with her prodigious assistant and her fellow colleague Juniper being thrown into the mix, his exasperation with the affair was nearing its boiling point.

Exhaling, he allowed himself to relax, the tension removing itself from his shoulders. He drained his cup, refilled it, drained it refilled it, and drank again. This time, he added nothing, choosing instead to allow the pure, unblemished taste of Earl Gray to fill him and oil the gears of his mind, get him thinking rationally again. No more bias from frustration, only methodical planning.

"She's in Mistralton right now, correct?"

"Yes."

He put a finger on his chin, thinking. "Amanita, no doubt, will be able to access the firewalls and disable them, therefore allowing the transfer of a Pokemon or several more to Fennel. The Ultra Balls could have been a diversion, an attempt to get us to think that she was only going to be in Mistralton for a short while until she left to capture a more substantial defender to fill her empty party."

"Twist Mountain is nearby. She could have been planning to go there to get a Gigalith, a Vanilluxe, or maybe even an Excadrill."

"Precisely. Though the transfer theory is an enticing one, the fact remains that it could also be another red herring. Her intentions may be to mislead us with Amanita while she gets herself a high-level capture from Twist Mountain. However, the transfer idea is currently the most plausible, while the capture theory doesn't hold up as strongly. Twist Mountain is miles away; twenty, I believe." In thoughtful contemplation, he took another drink and said, "The walk alone would take hours, by which point she would be exhausted and in no condition to hunt down anything. Fennel is more prudent than to rush headlong into something while not at her physical peak of energy, not to mention the fact that Twist Mountain is unaccessible for the season. Therefore, it is highly probable that Amanita will be the one providing her with a Pokemon of her own. From there, as she is currently in Mistralton, in accordance with her plans to flee, she will likely board one of the planes headed out of the region and try to escape."

Shadow One was silent. "Our nearest team is in Driftveil. Reports show that they're currently in the middle of engaging the Gym Leader and his trainers in a battle. The Driftveil squad will be unable to relocate some of their members to Mistralton. Not unless they want to sacrifice the city."

"Not a problem." Ghetis allowed a slow smile to cross his face, fingering the cup with an uncharacteristic carelessness-or so it would seem. "Zinzolin has brought it out, yes?"

"Sage Zinzolin is participating in the battle with the Pokemon you gave him. Yes."

"The Driftveil squad will stay where they are. We'll leave them to their own devices; for now, their services are better spent taking down the city's Gym Leader rather than getting involved in Mistralton. I'll send out an order to put two five-person squads in place at the main terminal, which is where Fennel will be going if she wants to board a plane to Sinnoh or Hoenn or some other such region." He fiddled with the spoon, sliding it around and around his cup, the steel scraping against the white porcelain with a screech. "Our main issue will be identifying Fennel. You've got no lock on her new alias? Or if she even has one?"

"No, sir."

"No matter. We'll be sure to weed her out soon enough." He stopped, clasping the spoon firmly between his thumb and index finger. The utensil was so well-polished that it gleamed brilliantly even in the unsubstantial rays of sunlight streaming through the window. "However, securing Fennel is going to be one of our main priorities."

He set the spoon down. "I trust that you will oversee the operation?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Excellent." He stared out, out into the cerulean sky and the pale clouds that looked like floating balls of cotton. "I'll be sending you some of the contact numbers of the agents in Mistralton shortly after this. Memorize them and delete them immediately after."

Endless stretches of blue and white streamed past him. "I'd like for this issue to be resolved shortly, and without any further complications, One. It would be within your interest-within _all _of our interests to have Fennel contained before she makes a potentially regretful decision."

[. . .]

"Arceus," Clay muttered, hastily drawing a warding sign in the air with trembling fingers. Behind him, Alec looked as if he had been struck by lightning. The boy stood stock-still like a Deerling caught in the headlights, his blue eyes faded into the washed-out eggshell color of alcoholics, his skin pasty and clammy with cold sweat. His Galvantula fixed all eight of its glassy eyes upon the apparition before it, mandibles clacking in fright as if it could also perceive the noxious spiritual aura pervading the air. Perhaps it could.

Cheren himself was just as paralyzed as his companions were. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, but no words issued from his throat. It was like he was frozen, his feet, his legs, and his arms all encased in a solid sheet of ice, the coldness spreading and taking root inside the rest of his body. Roots of some insidious feeling drove wedges into his mind, and he tried to scream but found himself incapable of producing a single sound. In the wake of the malignant entity's summoning, all connection between his mind and the rest of him appeared to have been severed. He could feel nothing. Just the terrible chill seeping into his veins, the horrid smell of decomposition, and the laughs of the creature which were both feminine and child-like in their sound; almost like the crunch of glass underfoot.

The Sage, standing with his back straight atop the grassy knoll, seemed unaffected by his Pokemon's presence despite his close proximity to the ghost. It was only natural, Cheren suspected. The animal, for the most part, did not harm the master, did not raise a finger in aggression or unprovoked retaliation. Zinzolin must have been shielded from Spiritomb's miasma or the spirit was purposefully diverting the soul-sucking radius of strangulation away from the old man. It was the only explanation Cheren could think of, and though he could hardly _feel _in such close distance to the creature, he felt his blood boil as he saw Zinzolin staring smugly at them from his perch.

"This is what your resistance gets you," the Sage said, his voice reverberating across the battlefield. "Pestilence and destruction shall be your only reward in the end." Although he couldn't physically see it, Cheren sensed that the fighting behind them had stopped and that the combatants were watching Zinzolin at this moment. The Driftveil trainers with stony looks on their faces, the grunts with reverence or devotion. Besides the strange clairvoyance, he could also hear that the ruckus from the two warring groups had quieted into blank and utter silence. It was completely still on the upturned, ice-encrusted and blackened fields, save for Zinzolin's voice.

"Look! Gaze upon the devastation you have incurred!" Zinzolin thrust a hand forward, drawing it across the vast plains. Cheren felt Spiritomb's foul hold slacken and slumped forward, gasping and retching like there was a bad taste in his mouth. The coldness subsided mercifully, his blood beating normally again, his chest no longer feeling like it was in a chokehold. As he fell, palms-first, his hands made contact with the grass and he realized that the green blades were still smoldering, ragged with glowing embers. In fact, the entire patch on which he had fallen was blackened, dotted here and there with tiny fires that still hadn't gone out. With a start, he recoiled and quickly jumped back, suddenly faced with an almost phobic fear of being consumed by a leaping blaze. He shook the images from his mind, shooting a glance at the swirling phantasm high above the hill. The creature's eyes seemed to reflect back into his, and he knew that though it had withdrawn its psychic cloak for now, the fear it exuded was still palpable and capable of affecting him.

The Sage gestured at the flame-scorched grasses, the chasms in the ground, the spirals of ice and snow hanging suspended in the air like bizarre sculptures. A strange fanaticism seemed to have overtaken him; Zinzolin's movements were wild, his prose flamboyant, his arms thrashing in the air as he gesticulated in a frenzy. "Look now, at the remains of your city! Look upon it all!" He raised his arms to the sky. "See now the chaos that reigns in this misguided city, this haven for the corrupt, this cesspool of ruin! See now the darkness, the rage that burns through each and every one of you!" He swept a hand forward, his robes billowing around him. "See now your own impertinence! Your ignorance! Your foolishness! Your uncleanliness! Polluted by the vile ideas which have been allowed to percolate and spread through this region for centuries and amongst the other regions for ages even longer than that, you have become accustomed to the suffering that occurs daily, yet you turn a blind eye and choose to do nothing about it."

Spiritomb, as if energized by the tirade coming from its master's mouth, began pulsing even faster, its flickering body outlined by a border of otherworldly lavender flame, its spiralling eyes spinning mesmerically, the keystone wreathed in a cloud of writhing black tendrils. As the tendrils wavered and ran along the ground, the grass wilted and died, crumbling into dry gray pieces of dust. Above, the rain had stopped pouring, the powers of the Bronzong that had fueled it now dissipating as its wielders were now no more. However, the angry skies remained as dark as ever, a depressing wall of gray blanketing them all and smothering them in its sinister embrace.

"This town demands _change_!" Zinzolin thundered, voice carrying over the battlers and perhaps even beyond. "And if you will not have it, then we, Team Plasma, shall bring about the change which you so adamantly resist, which you stubbornly fight against as if it is a bad thing. An _evil _thing." His voice was exalting, his body in the throes of his speech. As he spoke, jagged forks of lightning speared the sky like golden lances, granting those below a few seconds of brilliant illumination and a roaring, ripping sound that shook the earth. The dark clouds churned far above like an agitated swarm, swirling and crackling with power. Between Zinzolin's words and the draconic howls of the storm, Cheren couldn't decide which was more frightening. His Serperior, Haxorus, and Heatmor formed a protective circle around him. The serpent hissed, the dragon growled, and the mole gave a low snarl.

Clay stepped forward, face tinted with a deathly pallor but his jaw tensed and his movements quick, as if in deliberate defiance to the malevolent energies Spiritomb exuded. His fists clenched and unclenched as he stood, waiting for Zinzolin to finish. It was obvious he wanted to interject and give the Sage a piece of his mind, but he was restraining himself. Cheren marveled at the degree of control Clay was exerting over himself, even though the Sage's words must have been incredibly aggravating-_grating_, even.

"Corruption!" roared Zinzolin. "Filth! All these destructive qualities will be driven from this city and more! We will remake this region and turn it into something pure. The White Dragon, the Yang, is the bringer of your salvation!" A mighty wind began to pick up, whirling around the Sage. "The fire that will burn away the sin of your existence, the flame that will melt the bonds of servitude! Our king offers you this, offers you a chance at _redemption_, but you reject his benevolence?" He cast an accusatory finger at Clay. "You would really wish the wrath of a _god _upon your city?"

Clay could no longer control the words clawing at the back of his throat. "And what _god _appointed you as his speaker?" the Leader shouted. "The King? Your damn Lord N?" His eyes were narrowed in loathing for the Sage. "Or did you appoint yourself as some sorta avengin' angel, you bastard? What kind of redemption is a city full of the dead? What kind of _salvation _should we cry for when our most trusted companions are torn from us? What kind of world does your king want to bring upon Unova?" He spat. "Not a world I'd be lookin' to live in, that's for sure."

"Infidel!" the Sage shot back. "You cannot even begin to _fathom _the extent of our king's plans. And how _dare _you insult Lord N! You would be so arrogant as to spurn the one who gives you a chance at saving yourselves? The one who asks you one more time to turn away before the noose closes fast upon your miserable necks?"

"Then tell me, _where the hell is your damned Lord N_?" bellowed Clay, veins bulging prominently on his thick neck. "Where is this so-called _deity_, this fuckin' _dragon _of yours? Is he so much of a coward that he's got men like _you_," his lips curled into a snarl, "fightin' his battles for him? What kind of a leader is that? What kind of a king is afraid to charge into war with his own people? Your king is _weak_! He's _afraid_! He's so damn pathetic that he can't even take it when the shit hits the fan! He's just another pawn, for all I care."

Clay's face was no longer pale. His cheeks were now flushed red with his anger, his nostrils flared like a bull. He wasn't taking any crap from Zinzolin at all.

"And that _monster_!" Clay aimed a finger at the Spiritomb. "You've stooped so low that you're usin' that demon for protection? You disgusting, snivelling _man_!"

"Demon?" Zinzolin sneered. He laughed an ugly little laugh. "Oh, noble Gym Leader, I would have thought you were more accepting than that. What happened to your commitment to keeping people and Pokemon together? Are you going back on your words?"

"Don't twist my words, you bastard," said Clay with a scowl, prompting Zinzolin to return the look. "Have you any _idea _about the nature of that Pokemon?" The Leader's eyes glared at the Sage, brimming with bitterness and something like fear. "Are you aware of what it can do? Not just to others, but to _you_, its trainer?"

"Tsk. Delving into superstition and lore, are we?"

"Some things are _not _superstition, Zinzolin. You'd do well to turn that thing away and send it back to where it came from before it brings about your downfall."

"Afraid of ghosts?" the Sage mocked.

"Not all ghosts," replied Clay, gritting his teeth. "Just the ones that I know for sure are evil."

"Evil, you say? Making such narrow-minded distinctions are merely an example of how ignorant this city is, a fact that reflects upon you especially, Clay." Lips curling into a venomous smile, Zinzolin continued, "Good and evil, black and white. These boundaries, these divisions, this categorizing state of mind are no longer necessary. When Team Plasma finally comes into full power, the lines that previously separated day into night and light into dark will be blurred into gray. People and Pokemon will fit into this new area as coexisting societies, but no human will ever again be allowed to subjugate a Pokemon and turn it into a weapon." He gestured at his Spiritomb and at the felled Bronzong, their metal bodies lying in slumped, broken heaps in patches of grass and in mud-splattered trenches. "Subjugation would mean creating those borders again, to replicate the unfair caste system that exists now. In the new world, all errors will be corrected and Unova will be made to start anew. Indeed, in the new world, even I shall be compelled to release my Pokemon." He smiled. "Yes, even I, a member of the Seven Sages, shall willingly cooperate with my Lord N's new decrees. The beasts I currently command will be released into the wild, allowed to continue their lives without human interference. But until then," he whipped out another Pokeball from within his robes, "I have been granted permission, as have the men and women serving under me, to use Pokemon not as agents of destruction, but agents of change, of renewal."

"So, you're deludin' yourselves into thinking a massacre is a good thing," spat Clay. "Hypocrites, the lot of you. Preach change all you want, but the fact remains that y'all are just a bunch of bloodthirsty thugs, and if you think I'm lettin' you run my city, you've got another thing comin' to ya." At his words, Rhyperior and Tyranitar both tensed, the air filled with a faint but definite hum as the titans of stone prepared to attack. Clay's mouth was set into a terse slash, his brow furrowed and his cowboy hat streaked with soot and dirt. He looked every bit the Leader he was.

Zinzolin's smile had disappeared, replaced by a solemn frown. "There is much that you do not yet know, and it pains me just a bit that I will have to defeat you without telling you of those things first. You don't plan on withdrawing? Our king's offer is genuine." He held out a hand, a gesture that appeared imploring at first glance but was really just another fabricated lie. "Surrender, and you will be granted amnesty. All the damage we have caused so far will be repaired. Your people will survive." The hand beckoned. "Don't forget what happened to Nimbasa."

Those words were what cinched it. Clay's features drew back into something ugly, something enraged and feral. "You fuckin' son of a-!"

"We have tried to motivate you to embrace the changes our king is implementing and the ones that he will implement in the future. Through kind words and lenience, we have attempted to sway you to our side, to see the darkness that lurks in the hearts of the people. While we have succeeded in enlightening many through this practice of pacifism, it has clearly not been as effective as we once thought. Therefore," he cried, voice raisiedonce more, "we will motivate the people with fear! Fear, our scythe and flame! Fear, the reverence of the Yang god brought into the flesh! Fear, the driving force which will bring about change; the timeless motivator." He spread his hands. "Fear us, Driftveil! Fear the might of Team Plasma! Fear the end of a system and the beginning of a reformed nation!"

"_Fear_?" growled Clay. "Nothin' more than a tyrant is what you are!"

"And you are nothing more than a mortal, as we all are." Zinzolin closed his eyes. "It is said that at the End of Days, the Creator will allow the Great Dragon, Giratina, and all of its unholy servants to wander the earth, spreading chaos as destruction as they please. Birth from immolation, life from death. As the phoenix is reborn from its ashes, so too shall Unova begin anew from ruins."

He locked eyes with Clay. "Experience fear, Gym Leader, and glimpse rebirth."

The Sage tossed the Pokeball into the air, streams of blue light pouring from the sphere as it opened on an invisible hinge. Swivelling ribbons of cerulean energy coalesced, molding themselves into a more substantial form, becoming a massive, pillar-like structure that rose at least ten feet above the ground. When the shimmering rays dispersed, what remained was a towering metal golem, bearing arms the width of the Skyarrow Bridge and fingers the size of bastions. Gleaming metal plates covered its body and a heavy strip of metal crossed its chest, partially sealing a tear in its armor from which tongues of otherwordly green flame lapped at the air, the burning tendrils hungry and seeking. Raw power seemed to burst from the creature like sunbeams, sending shivers through Cheren's body. With a single footstep, it sent tremors shuddering through the entire city, the ground underneath him rippling like water. He lurched backwards, utterly spellbound by the emergence of the Golurk.

The thing was a tank; a living, supernatural tank animated by forces which he couldn't even begin to imagine. The green fire and the air it emanated was proof enough of that. For a moment, he was so awed by the beast that the sinister miasma of Spiritomb was all but pushed out of his mind.

What happened next was an indistinct blur of events. He was so dazed that he barely managed to register the shouted warnings of Clay even though the Leader was practically next to him. By the time the sounds reached his ears and were processed by his mind, the cautionary instinct that kicked in came too late. He heard a high-pitched keening whistle, a rush of air by his shoulder, and a cold, heavy weight slamming him into the ground. Pain burst near his neck accompanied by a sick, brutal snap, and he lost himself in the horribly acute stab of self-awareness, letting out a scream that tore at his vocal cords. He smelled a harsh, bitter smell which his shock-addled mind still managed to identify as sulfur, as well as the fact that his collarbone must have been broken.

Groaning, he tasted blood in his mouth and probed the ragged inside of his cheek, where he deduced he must have bitten down on when he was hit by whatever _that _was. Attempting to ignore the pain in his chest, he struggled to his feet, aided by his trusted Serperior. The snake boosted him to a standing position and gave a plaintive cry, examining his wounds.

He tried to smile and failed. "I-I'll be okay," he assured the serpent, still shaky.

Clay's cry of alarm jarred him from his stupor, the Gym Leader's hand closing around his arm and yanking him sideways. He gave a small gasp as a wickedly sharp tendril of shadow, sinuous and invoking a raw sense of fear in him, thudded into the ground where he had been standing not a second before, the dark blade sinking into the earth as cleanly as a scalpel into skin. A Dark Pulse, he realized, taking in the sight of the unnatural sword sticking like an arrow from a mound of dirt. Smelling the same sulfuric smell, he affirmed that it must have been Dark Pulse that hit him earlier.

The tendril quivered, dissolving into a formless black mass that reformed just as quickly. He could see Spiritomb surrounded by at least five more of the limb-like extensions, looking like a grotesque perversion of an Octillery. The whip hung above their heads, giving it a disturbing resemblance to the blade of a guillotine. He heard more whistles as the air was displaced, their sound almost lamentful. Clay shouted a command and jagged stone pillars rose upon in front of them, forming a makeshift buffer. Clay dragged him away again as the attack tore through the barricade and continued on towards them. Barking another command, Clay veered to the right as a hustling coil of electricity shot through the sky and connected with the Dark Pulse, the two energies colliding sharply and exploding in a simultaneous rejection of the other. A heavy haze of smoke enveloped them, filled with the smell of ozone and rotting eggs, and Cheren felt the urge to gag.

"Move! Move! Move!" Clay shouted, ducking and narrowly missing a barrage of crackling spheres. The ghostly missiles crashed into the ground, sending up a cloud of dirt which only complicated their sight. Cheren coughed up dust, wiping his stinging eyes as more unseen projectiles sailed onward.

"Keith!" roared Clay, yanking a black walkie-talkie from his pocket while steering Cheren away from danger. There was a crackle, and Clay spoke into the microphone. "Listen, radio Team C! Tell them to be on alert for any updates!" A lance of dark energy shot above their heads and swerved back around, threatening to skewer both Clay and Cheren. With a nasty string of curses, Clay barked an order and Rhyperior was there, taking the attack with its burly arms. Giving a roar of pain, the giant threw its hands up and summoned an array of heavy stones from the earth, the boulders torn from the ground by Rhyperior's geokinetic pull. With a howl, it launched the stones at the tendril, shattering the whip. With an angry-sounding hiss, it disintegrated.

"Fuckin' shit!" stormed Clay, shoving the walkie-talkie back into his vest. "Rhyperior, give us a Protect!"

Shrugging off its previous injury, the mammoth creature rolled its shoulders, body aglow with flickering blue light. With a disgruntled heave, it rallied the shining aura into a solid bubble that firmly encapsulated Cheren and Clay, guarding them against future attacks-until it wore out, anyway. Cheren was all to aware of what could happen if it did, having seen and been part of the fight against Zinzolin's Bronzong.

"All right, you okay?" asked Clay, running a hand over a gash in Rhyperior's side, his tone making it seem as if he was utterly indifferent to Cheren's pain. Cheren grimaced, not wanting to disturb the still throbbing wound.

He nodded. "Yeah, I think I am."

"Damn it, damn it, damn it," muttered the Gym Leader, removing a half-empty bottle of pink fluid and spraying it over Rhyperior's various cuts and scrapes. Instantly, many of the shallower cuts healed, the brown flesh sealing itself and looking as if nothing had happened. Other more severe wounds weren't so quick to heal, especially the chunk of its arm missing from the Dark Pulse. Scowling, Clay doused the grisly wound in Hyper Potion, but only small portions of skin regenerated. Rhyperior gave a low growl.

"Doesn't seem like there's anything else we can do," Clay said, pocketing the bottle. He whistled, calling Tyranitar to their ranks. Without a word, Rhyperior extended the protective sphere to its compatriot, shielding the drake from harm as well.

Cheren spoke up. "You're really going to mobilize the second wave? Are you sure?"

"What else do you want me to do, boy? If ya haven't noticed, most of this city is in ruins already, and it's only goin' ta get worse as this battle goes on. Not exactly leavin' me with a lot of options," snapped Clay, his voice coming out more harshly than first intended. Despite himself, Cheren flinched.

Seeing his expression, Clay sighed and rubbed the brim of his hat. His fingers came away stained with black and brown dirt, the white brim now splattered with muddy shades. "Sorry. Didn't mean to yell at you like that."

"It's okay."

"Shit." Clay cursed, running his hands down his face. "This city's gettin' blown to bits around me, and its partly my fault. But that Zinzolin bastard..." The Leader's voice dropped a decibel lower. "I'm gonna make him pay for trashing Driftveil like this."

Still tentative, Cheren hung away shyly in the shadow of the colossal Pokemon above him. Clay was angry, and as Cheren had learned, it was best to avoid Clay when he was in his moods.

Both of them were jolted out of their tense reprieve when a splintering stream of ice-cold energy streaked through the plumes of dust and struck their barrier, startling them both. The shield faltered, Rhyperior giving a grunt as it struggled to hold still the energies comprising Protect. A patch of ice began spreading around the circumference of the dome, a patchwork of white slowly enfolding them in frost.

"Damn it! Rhyperior, drop the shield and use Rock Tomb!"

Dutifully complying, the titan thrust its hands deep into the earth, puddles of amber energy pooling around it and seeping deep into the soil. Spears of compressed dirt and grass shot from the ground several feet away, impaling the unlucky creature that had just attacked them. Exhaling a crystalline hiss, an injured Cryogonal floated from the brown clouds, followed by a disheveled male grunt wielding an ominous black rifle. Cocking the gun, the grunt swiftly drew the rifle up to shoulder height and placed his finger right in front of the trigger, pulling it.

A sharp crack resounded, a small burst of light momentarily dazzling him. He felt something shoot past his ear, inches away from hitting his head, and with a start, he realized it was the bullet. His knees buckled as the full weight of what he just avoided came crashing down on him.

The grunt fired two more shots, one of them missing but the other sinking into Rhyperior's chest, though its progress was fortunately impeded by the dual-type's thick muscle and plating. Giving an angered roar, Rhyperior flung out an arm, smacking the grunt savagely to the side with a snapping sound, a sure sign that something had given away.

He turned, his broken collarbone sending a painful shiver through him. A pair of grunts were standing there, both armed and flanked by a Weezing and a Golduck, respectively. They eyed him with obvious menace, their eyes straying to the handles of their jet-black pistols.

"Game over, kiddo," one of the grunts said, snapping his fingers. The Weezing laughed and belched a thick cloud of putrid purple smoke into the air. Cheren instantly registered the attack as Smog, recalculated the damage it could do without the caps, and immediately began running in the other direction.

It was of no use, though. He heard the Golduck emit a caw, felt ripples of psionic energy coursing around him, and saw the plumes of foul smoke in close pursuit, shifting impossibly into a myriad of frightening shapes. The clouds were so close that he smelled their repugnant scent more pungently than before, if such a thing was even possible. Before he knew it, the Smog was coiled around his legs and swallowing the rest of his body in a bruise-colored haze. The smoke was surprisingly thick, and he experienced the sensation of swimming through Jell-O as he tried to free himself from the attack. It was probably due to the Psychic or Confusion fired off by the Golduck affecting the air, he reasoned. Though, in the face of imminent death, recalling facts like that were utterly useless. As the Smog touched his skin, he felt his skin prickle and begin swelling, his pores shrinking and his skin bulging into a grotesque patchwork of swollen blue hives. A creeping feeling of suffocation began to descend upon him, making his skin feel like it was on too tight. He gasped, struggling for breath as his vision began to blur, his lungs constricted and growing worse by the second.

Without warning, flurry of razor-sharp leaves shot out, a whirling, lacerating twister. The emerald storm cleaved through the mist, shocking Golduck out of its psychic hold on the mist. With a hiss and a bang, it struck the amphibious creature in its torso, the spinning blades slashing at its skin and sending chunks of bloody blue flesh flying. Howling in agony, Golduck reeled back, clutching at its bloodstained chest. Four green vines quickly followed after it, coiling around the Water-type and flinging it up, its screeches fading until there was only silence. The grunt who had been its trainer looked around in confusion, thrusting his pistol in front of him. The vines swung around, smacking the gun out of his hands and wrapping around his midsection. They squeezed him tightly, eliciting a pained, wheezing cry from the man.

His partner growled and directed Weezing towards the tendrils. Swivelling, the two-headed beast sent its poisonous spray at the vines. As soon as the Smog touched, the vines immediately began to turn a sickly blue shade that soon deepned into an ugly purple, and finally a rotting black. The coils retreated, but even as they did, more returned to take their place. Cheren heard a cracking sound and a hideous scream as the man's arm broke from the force exerted by the vines. Carelessly, the vines tossed him away to join his Golduck in the stars.

"Sludge Bomb!" the other grunt yelled. Rearing both of its monstrous heads, Weezing spat twin bolts of sizzling toxic liquid from its mouths. When they met the ground, the chemicals in the sludge triggered a combustive chemical reaction, and the earth exploded. Cheren was showered in bits of grass and turf, but he didn't care. His eyes darted around, searching for his mysterious savior, although he was already sure who it was.

As if on cue, Serperior slithered forth, fangs bristling with the intent to kill. An orb of jade light was already nestled in the crook of its tongue, and as it darted protectively in front of Cheren, it launched the Energy Ball. The sphere slammed into Weezing's larger, more bulbous head and exploded upon impact. Both the grunt and Weezing were hurled far away, clearing a path through the smoke, at least. The venomous haze disappeared upon the Poison-type's departure, and Cheren felt his breathing resume its normal course. Even his hives were dying down, the poison that had triggered them seemingly going away with the haze.

His starter nudged him in worry, tongue darting over the swollen lumps. Serperior's saliva seemed to have some healing properties, because he could swear that he felt the pain lessen and the affected hives fade entirely into red patches. He patted the snake, hearing the thundering steps of Haxorus and Heatmor right behind.

Giving all of his Pokemon affectionate pats, he turned back and saw Clay with half of his right sleeve missing and a dark shadow crossing his face. His Tyranitar and Rhyperior stood over a blackened crater, at the center of which lay a half-melted blob of metal. The grunt in the pit was actually on fire, but he didn't appear to care.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed, rushing over to Clay's side. The Gym Leader was staring at the pit with a sad expression, a look that surprised him. After all the Clay had said, he hadn't expected him to feel bad for any of the grunts. Indeed, even he felt hard-pressed to muster any sympathy for Team Plasma. The phantom images lurked in the back of his mind, almost invisble, but they were undeniably there.

The grunt was slowly being consumed by the flames, but he did not scream, although Cheren noticed he was biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. His lips were scratched and torn, and his outfit was smoking. Still, he glared at them with a bright defiance blazing in his eyes. The intensity of his stare both frightened and amazed Cheren. He was surprised-shocked, really, that someone being turned into ashes could still look ahead with that kind of determination.

"Shouldn't we help him?" he asked Clay. "I mean, even if they have done some bad things-"

"Fuck off!" the grunt spat. "I don't need your help. Not your help, or any help from any of the fucktards in this city. All of you can just screw yourselves."

Though initially taken aback, Cheren's features quickly hardened and he felt rage bubbling up inside him like magma up through a volcano. "Well then, you can burn for all I care. It's people like you who are ruining this city and the rest of Unova." He glowered. "I never bought that crap about liberation for a second. And neither did a lot of people."

The man did something even more inexplicable. He laughed. "That's fucking fantastic for you then, shithead. You'll burn too when our king comes and douses this region in the fires of the Yang dragon."

"You believe that? You really do? Listen here, asshole." His eyes narrowed. "Your king is a coward. He can't fight his own battles, which is why he's sending small fry like you to do it for him. And the only way he won over-over my fucking _friend _is because he had all his little minions with him to carry him to the finish line." The flickering flames illuminated Cheren's face, painting it in an angry scarlet pallor. "That's who your king is. A warped, messed-up human being who doesn't understand anything about people or Pokemon at all."

"You think I give a shit?!" the grunt yelled, lurching forward. His eyes were maddened, his movements erratic as he grinned through bloody teeth at Cheren and Clay. "I honestly don't give a Raticate's ass about the liberation thing, myself."

"Hypocrite too, then?" snarled Cheren, fists bunching. "You really are scum."

"You don't know me. You don't know who I am or what I've done," the grunt shot back defiantly. "You know why I joined this stupid operation in the first place? To get rid of Pokemon! I hate them! I fucking hate Pokemon!" The fire licked at his clothes, incinerating the fabric of his outfit and burning his skin. Red flakes began falling off, and blisters popped and sizzled like bubbles. The grunt bit back a scream, falling to his knees.

He glared up at them both. "All they've done is make my life miserable! They're evil, every last one of them!" His eyes darted about wildly. "My brother, he tried to become a trainer and caught a Lillipup. He raised it and evolved it until it was a Stoutland! He made it strong, and do you know what it did in return? It fucking _ate_ him! Tore him to pieces, and I watched! And then...and then..." Tears were pouring down the young man's cheeks now, sizzling as the heat from the fire surged relentlessly around him, sheathing him in an immolating cocoon. "That monster bit me and screwed up my legs! Did you know that I couldn't walk for years? That I had to sit in a wheelchair? That I got called all sorts of names by people? No, you don't!"

Turning his face to the sky, he went on, "But all that changed when I met Lord Ghetsis. He promised me a new life, and he has! Look at me now!" The grunt clambered to his feet, shaky but standing. "I'm here, aren't I? Even if I die, there's going to be more to fill my place." Grinning, he said, "You can't win. Not against us. Not against a god."

Cheren stepped forward, but Clay shot an arm out to block his path. The grunt stared at them, his smile deranged. "The bond between Pokemon and humans hasn't done anything for the furthering of humanity. We've all been so wrapped up in taking care of our precious little pets that we've neglected what, millennia of knowledge? We focus so much attention on those monsters that we can cure a Pokemon poisoning in seconds, but we haven't even begun to tackle human diseases yet! Where's the cure for cancer? For Alzheimers? There is _no _cure, because those _things _have been distracting us this whole time!"

As the fire began consuming the rest of his body, he shouted, "But the time is nigh! Lord N will lead us into our salvation! All hail Lord N! All hail Lord N! All hail-"

His chants were cut off by the horrendous, soul-wrenching scream coming from the grunt. He was no longer a man, but a walking, shrieking blaze. The silhouette of his burning body could be seen even within the orange flames, every limb wreathed in a searing corona of fire. Cheren turned away, and Clay stared at the ground as the grunt burned away all of his grudges and all of his dreams.

When the screams had stopped and there was nothing but cinders, Clay steered Cheren away from the remains of the grunt and said, "It's time to end this battle."

[/ / /]

Like the beginnings of a sunrise, wave C spilled over the sides of Driftveil's rolling green hills, all of them bellowing fierce war cries at the top of their lungs. Men and women, some armed and some in possession of a Pokemon, burst over the war-torn grasses, charging into the fray of the fighting. The grunts, who had previously dominated in number, now looked at the newcomers with a hint of fear. As the second group merged with the first, the standard battle noises resumed, a myriad of colors streaking through the air and painting the battlegrounds in fire and ice.

Zinzolin still stood atop the knoll, fending off those who tried to get too close with his Spiritomb and Golurk. The former Ghost-type was especially delighted by the free reign its master gave it, unleashing a barrage of attacks like Dark Pulse, Psychic, and Shadow Ball. All around it, the shadows churned and formed into deadly black spears that skewered multiple fighters or ghostly missiles that tore through countless enemies without pause. The space around the Sage was littered with the bodies of those who had fallen. Some were merely unconscious, while others were well and truly dead.

Keith rode on his Metagross, the massive steel tank floating above the ground, levitating through a mixture of telekinesis and magnetism. Roaring, the beast stopped in its tracks and shot a silver ray of energy at the Spiritomb, mouth bared to expose wickedly sharp teeth. Haughtily, the apparition cackled and pulsed, the edges of its fluctuating body outlined with a tainted dark blue aura. Psionic energy rippled from its body, cresting from its epicenter and spreading like waves. As the Flash Cannon struck the Psychic, it was pushed back by the impending wave of telekinetic power, ultimately dispersing into harmless sparks some feet away from Metagross. Growling, it retaliated with a Psychic of its own. The two blasts met, sending shudders through the nearby area as shivers of psychic power warped the air. Metagross pressed forward, but Spiritomb responded in kind. There was a vacuous sound, the noise of all air being sucked in, and then an explosion that rocked both attacking parties.

Jeff was close by, his Krookodile with him. At his command, the crocodile leapt up, its teeth elongating and curving into dangerously sharp points. Latching onto the bulky Golurk, it sank its jaws into the automaton's metal armor, ripping free a good-sized chunk. The golem let out an unearthly cry and swatted the offending creature away as if it were no more than a fly.

Cheren and Clay ran towards the Sage, their Pokemon trailing behind them. Cheren's breath was labored, his collarbone stabbing at him with every arduous step. Still, he pushed himself on, determined to beat the Sage and prove the grunt wrong. That Pokemon were _not _evil, that there was more to them that he would never be able to understand.

Abruptly, he doubled over, panting for breath. There was a stitch in his side, and he felt that he would vomit at any moment. Clay jogged over and helped him up.

"You all right?" the Leader inquired. His hat was completely missing now, having vanished several stretches of distance ago. His brown hair fluttered, and for the first time, Cheren noticed just how big the Gym Leader's ears were.

The thought itself was, for some strange reason, ludicrously funny to him. He gave a giggle which soon blossomed into a full-blown laugh. He clutched his stomach as he waited for the laughter to subside, wiping away the tears and grime from his eyes.

"Somethin' funny?" Clay demanded.

"N-no," said Cheren, sobering up instantly. "It's just...I..."

"Don't worry about the specifics now," the Leader told him. "What you gotta worry about is the _present_. Get your head in the game, alright? You see, _those_," he pointed at the apparition and the golem, "are the kinds of things you've gotta worry about at this moment, at this second." Clay gave him a hard look. "You've got friends, family, don't you, Cheren?"

"Yeah. I do."

"The you've gotta _focus_, okay? Concentrate. This here might well be the biggest fight of our lives, you got that?"

"I've got that." Cheren returned the look.

"Then let's do this. Kick that bastard's ass."

They charged, tearing past groups of warring grunts and trainers without drawing so much as a bat of an eye. The throng had broken up into various smaller factions, each unit fighting within itself. Several had even resorted to hand-to-hand combat, rushing grunts as they unclipped another Pokeball, not giving them any time to recover. The assaults were brutal, but the grunts were better prepared. He heard pained cries from those brought down with bullets or electrified batons, but he deliberately ignored them. Clay told him to focus on the present, so he would. And the present currenly involved taking down Zinzolin.

Cheren skidded to a halt behind Keith, whose eyes widened as he took in the new arrivals. Cheren barked out three orders: "Serperior, Energy Ball on Golurk! Haxorus, Heatmor, both of you hit Spiritomb with a Flamethrower!"

Clay was next, his Tyranitar and Rhyperior both battle-ready. "Dark Pulse! Rock Wrecker! Take 'em out, boys!"

The serpent spat a crackling gem-like projectile at Golurk, the green missile striking it in the shoulder and leaving a sizeable dent. As it exploded, scattering into fragments, Haxorus and Heatmor loosed twin streams of fire at Spiritomb, their heat distorting the air as it shot forward like burning torpedos. With a howl, the ghost deflected the infernal deluge, calling up a translucent shield to absorb the blast.

Belligerent, Golurk reached out with a massive hand, electricity writhing like snakes around its fingers. Bringing the hand down, it released the Thunderbolt. The shining lance sped through the sky, arcing down a crashing onto Heatmor with a thunderous sound. The mole cried out, its body wreathed in electrical coils.

"Heatmor!" Cheren shouted. "Serperior, use-"

Three bolts of darkness converged around the Keystone and whipped around like knives, colliding with Heatmor before Cheren could even finish his command. He felt the breath go out of him as they tore at his Pokemon, blood spurting from multiple gashes. He felt his mind go startlingly numb as he witnessed another of his friends being taken out so ruthlessly. When the sinister lashes finally drew back, Heatmor was lying in a bloody heap three feet away, its chest not moving at all. Just a sad little heap of flesh and bone.

Zinzolin laughed, and Cheren felt his anger reach a crescendo. His sight turned into a deathly shade of red, all reason lost. Screaming like a madman, he charged at the Sage, howling bloody murder while screeching commands at his Serperior and Haxorus.

"Cheren, get back!" he heard someone-_maybe Clay_-yell. He paid no attention to the warnings, however, totally blinded by rage. Spots of color swam in front of him as he raced up the hill, his nails raking shallow gouges into the soil. In his frenzied scrabble uphill, he tore off part of a fingernail, leaving a limp, wet shard dangling from his pink skin. He ignored even this, as well as the throbbing in his neck. He had only one goal in mind, and that was to wring Zinzolin's neck.

Raising his eyes up, he saw a churning black spiral shooting straight for his head. Rolling to the side, he narrowly dodged the attack and continue on up. Suddenly, he experienced a sensation of weightlessness, and discovered that he was floating inches off of the ground. Flailing his arms and thrashing about proved as ineffective as swimming upstream. His body was caught in a total psychic headlock. The inches soon became feet, and before he knew it, he was hovering directly in front of Zinzolin and Spiritomb. The phantom, Jack-o-Lantern eyes aglow with blue fire, chuckled, an amorphous mass of shadowy arms rolling in fluid, agitated waves directly beneath it.

"Foolish boy," whispered Zinzolin, stretching out an aged hand speckled with numerous spots in a sign of something Cheren couldn't fathom. The Sage gazed at him from beneath the brim of his hat, old eyes staring owlishly. "Prepare to meet your end. You who have resisted, you who have rebelled, shall be cast into a torment the likes of which you cannot even imagine."

The shadows coalesced, conforming into more defined shapes. Pitchforks, swords, crudely formed hands made for ripping apart victims all emerged from the bubbling pool, like the arms of the undead stretched upwards in a vain attempt at ascension. Spiritomb grinned, and it was not the grin of a predator but of a devil.

"You've tried to kill me quite a few times now, Zinzolin," he said, feeling emboldened by the prospect of death. "And have you succeeded yet? Nope." He gave the Sage a withering glare, trying to put all his contempt into every word uttered by his lips. "And I can assure you, you won't be getting rid of me this time around either. You may have power, but power doesn't hide the coward within you. I can see you, you fucker. I can see you, and I know just what you are. Like Clay said, you're just a snivelling old man. You're weak."

The Sage's eyes lit up, rising to the taunt just as Cheren hoped. He continued, "You're as weak as your king, bastard. That's why you can never get anything done, isn't it? 'Cause in the end, you're all just a bunch of miserable, spineless cowards, the whole lot of you."

Spiritomb growled, and he felt a strange pressure on his skull. Something akin to pins and needles, only they were being forced into his scalp. Rivulets of sweat rolled down his forehead as his face grew blotchy and turned Tamato-berry red, but he kept on talking.

"You say that the spirit can be broken? That the mind can be broken? You're wrong, Zinzolin. If you can buy into stuff like that, you're just deluding yourself." He looked the Sage in the eye. "Kill me, and more will rise, just like your pathetic army of grunts. Only this time, we'll have something to fight for. Can you say the same for yourself and for the people you lead? No," he said, breathing heavily. "No, because all you care about is the control. All you care about is yourselves. That's why _you'll _lose, and we'll win."

The Sage was trembling. He leaned in close and put his face right next to Cheren's so that he could see the anger in the old man's eyes, could glimpse the barely contained fury underneath his skin. And Cheren was glad when he saw it. He felt a sense of retaliation, of striking back with words, at having had the parting shot before he died.

"You, child, are the most ignorant of the bunch," Zinzolin rasped, every word sounding like a hiss. "See now the fear. See now the death and destruction. I've held myself back, but no longer. Insolence must not be rewarded; it must be struck down." Backing away, he ordered, "Kill him immediately."

Howling in gleeful affirmation, Spiritomb blazed, its body transformed into a wicked purple pyre. The darkness surged around it, tridents and arrows to pierce and rend his skin. He closed his eyes and shouted, "Frenzy Plant!"

There was a furious shriek from behind him as thick, barbed roots shot from the grass, uplifting entire mounds of soil in the process. Like a living Medusa, the shifting ropes drew together, clustering madly around the spectral creature and stabbing deep into its warped, hideous face. The ghost screamed bloody vengeance, tearing at the barbs with its dark manifestations. In its anger, it lost its psychic hold in him as it directed all of its energy into fending off the intruding vines. The weightless sensation gave away to gravity's thrall and he crashed painfully back onto the ground, rolling down the slopes of the hill and into the hard shelled armor of his Haxorus. His neck gave a warm, sharp throb as he came to a stop, chewing on his already ragged lower lip and staring into the eyes of his faithful dragon.

"Haaaaaxxxxoooo," it rumbled, as if reprimanding him. The drake scooped him up with its short yet surprisingly powerful arms, supporting him as he stood on unsteady legs. He felt as if he were walking-no, _standing _on water. Turning his head, he tried to get a glance at his Heatmor, but was blocked by Haxorus. The dragon shook its head and gave a reproachful growl from the back of its throat.

He gulped, took out Heatmor's Pokeball and tried to call it back. A laser-thin beam shot out, convering the fallen Fire-type into a scarlet cloud, and sucked it back in, closing with a snap. He felt tears in his eyes again, bitter and salty. Wiping them away, he pocketed the plastic orb and looked up at Haxorus. The trainer-Pokemon bond that existed between them flashed, a pinpoint-small flash of understanding passing instantaneously through their minds. There was no need for words; not with the bond they shared.

"Avenge him, okay?" he asked, eyes still watering. His voice hardened as he barked the order, "Dragon Pulse, now!"

The drake nodded, stepping away to get in proper position. He saw Serperior standing off to the side, still manipulating the forceful roots as they swarmed over Spiritomb like the waves of a stormy sea, always managing to push the creature back down. The apparition was entirely covered in a bush of sharp thorns, a churning, stinging prison that rolled relentlessly, directed by the serpent's powers. Spiritomb shrieked in annoyance, striking the oppressive walls with everything it could muster. Lashes of black light, cannonballs that reeked of decay, and wavering telekinetic shocks that only managed to clear away a few of the vines at a time. Haxorus was in prime position to take out the Sage right now, and it was a moment that Cheren would seize upon.

"Go!"

A brilliant beam of mystical cerulean fire shot from the dragon's mouth like a supernova, rapidly expanding into a devastating ray streaked with green and yellow. The grass directly underneath the path of the flare withered and died, drying into shriveled black husks as the jet soared past. Spiritomb, still ensnared in its earthen prison, failed to notice the incoming blast until it was too late.

The Sage swung a hand out at the attack and his Golurk mimicked the movement perfectly, sweeping a brawny metal fist in a swooping arc to intercept the draconic cannon. Its joints creaked as the colossus opened its palm, an obsidian globe of energy already nestled in its hand. Even as the first Shadow Ball erupted forth, its fingers snapped open, growing vividly gun-like with sparking points of black light peering at the end of the barrel-shaped digits. In rapid succession, a volley of dark orbs burst free and crashed into the raging stream, ghostly power colliding with draconic might. A sound like a thunderclap shook the contenders, a whooshing gust of air bursting from the center of collision. Haxorus closed its mouth, tucking its tail behind it as Cheren called out, "Outrage!"

A radiant cloak of dazzling colors ballooned from the drake's center, spreading out and encompassing it until the dragon was sheathed in a flickering armor both offensive and defensive. Bolts of some bizarre energy popped free from the shimmering avatar, fizzling and crackling like lightning. Howling, Haxorus sprang up, pivoting in the air like a piston. With a rush of wind, he dove at Golurk like a rocket in motion.

The automaton was bulky, and therefore it should have been slow by all reasoning. However, this was not the case. As Haxorus neared, the blades on its head gleaming silver, its eyes flashed, a stark-white sphere appearing in front of its chest. An Ice Beam, Cheren instantly discovered. The chilling orb grew larger and larger until it was the size of the golem's head, waves of cold emanating from its entire surface. A piercing shriek, and a beam of pure ice erupted from the charged globe, slamming into Haxorus with the force of a freight train and piercing the meager defenses afforded to it by Outrage. Cheren's breath hitched, his heart stopped, and he felt dead.

The drake would not be so easily bested, though. Giving another earsplitting screech, it responded with a Flamethrower. A ray of fire shot from the dragon's mouth, crashing into the Ice Beam and forging ahead. Disregarding the pain in its side, the drake drove on, an infernal downpour raining down from its mouth. Golurk gave a shuddering cry, the Ice Beam wearing thin as the flames pushed forward. As the distance between the two battlers closed, the titan's metal plating began to melt as the blaze drew ever closer. Crimson spots bloomed on the golem's chest as the gap finally came to a close. Haxorus kept on pouring out its Flamethrower, roaring. The automaton fell back, half of its chest nearly gone. The protective band had disappeared completely, leaving the supernatural core within exposed for all to see. Zinzolin screamed a command and with a last desperate heave, Spiritomb struck free from its cage, a single powerful blast of psionic power shooting out and cresting from the entity like waves, dismembering the sentient vines. Serperior hung its head, exhausted from the intensive energies spent holding it at bay.

"Have you had enough?" the Sage jeered, staring at the group of weary fighters gathered in front of him. Spiritomb, now freed of its confines, chuckled and floated high into the air, a web of shadows still framing its face like an unholy halo. Golurk groaned and pulled itself up, the unearthly flame burning brightly in its wide-open chest. Haxorus, now wounded, gave a sharp hiss as it melted the jagged forks of ice extending from its midsection.

"Never," said Clay, Tyranitar and Rhyperior guarding him. Keith hovered atop his Metagross, while Jeff was accompanied by Krookodile. They were a ragtag group, all of them worn thin by the stress and strain of the battle, but each one of them still blazing defiantly in the face of danger. The Gym Leader stared dead ahead, eyeing Zinzolin with a cold fury in his bleak eyes. "Have _you _had enough, Zinzolin? By now, you should know that we don't intend on givin' up that easily. We'll take you down even if it takes all day, you fuckin' slime."

"The same could be said for myself, blasphemous man," Zinzolin bit back. "In the end, it is we who will triumph, for we have a god on our side."

"Some god it is," Clay muttered. "Almost defeated by a girl and her god, as well."

"Nontheless, Lord N has proved himself in battle. White forfeited her right to rebel when she lost. You would do well to follow in your hero's footsteps before the situation evolves into something more...ugly." The Sage's smile was all poison.

"Like hell!"

"Spiritomb, _Dark Pulse_."

The apparition screamed and let loose an insidious storm of black tendrils, the sinister riptide cascading towards Cheren and the others at a breakneck pace. Calmly, Keith intoned, "Light Screen."

Metagross sent out a prismatic wall of light, the barricade springing into existence directly in front of Clay as the attack hit. A tar-like tide crashed against the barrier, the meeting producing a keening sound from the shield as a network of cracks shot through the glassy panel. Giving a mighty shove with its mind, Metagross lashed out and cleaved a path through the torrent, the dark waves parting and dissipating into formless clouds.

"Earthquake," commanded Jeff, just as Zinzolin called, "Ice Beam."

As Krookodile stamped down with its foot, sending a gap-toothed chasm through the ground, Golurk released a clear white bolt from its chest. The laser swept over the seam, sealing it immediately with a thick layer of ice and traveling upwards. As the beam neared the crocodile, Cheren yelled and Serperior darted in front of it, generating a Protect in the nick of time. The ray sliced the surface of the crystalline hemisphere, never managing to penetrate the thick barrier. When the shot had finally dissipated, Serperior lashed out with its tail and sent a flurry of blade-edged leaves at the golem while Krookodile launched a volley of sharp stones at the behemoth's head.

Quick as a flash, Spiritomb darted in front of its comrade, a faint area of distortion the only signal that it had used Psychic. Leaf Storm and Stone Edge both slowed, caught in the ghost's telekinetic grip. The two attacks merged into a whirling storm of earthen materials, and, with a howl, the phantom redirected the deadly combo back at them.

"Rhyperior, counter it with a Thunderbolt!" snapped Clay. "Tyranitar, give that Golurk at Dark Pulse!"

Rhyperior's horn spun, a spark of electricity rising to the tip and more bolts following. A crackling, splintering fork of lightning burst from the end of its horn, striking the dual Grass-Ground combination and reducing it to ashes and dust. Tyranitar bellowed and shot a coalescent black ray from its mouth, the dark beam smashing into Golurk before it could block or counter with an attack of its own. Like a wicked lance, the Dark Pulse pierced the point where its shoulder met its left arm and went on through, cleaving the ancient metal in half. There was only a groaning, shuddering sound to announce the sudden amputation as the golem's arm tore free and fell to the ground, disconnected entirely from the operating body.

Zinzolin's face was a mask of rage. Thrusting an arm out, he cried, "Earthquake, Golurk!"

Despite the loss of its limb, the colossus got back onto its feet, a fearsome behemoth of destructive force. It brought down a foot, and Cheren could feel the vibrations shaking the city back and forth as if it were a child's toy boat in a bathtub. The vibrations traveled through the earth and up the bodies of everyone caught up in it. Teeth chattering uncontrollably, Cheren shouted, "Haxorus, _Flamethrower_, full power!"

A scorching pillar even more intense than the previous one exploded from between the drake's fangs, billowing towards the golem at an alarming speed. The fiery jet blasted into its ankle, the all-consuming flames instantly melting the steel into a formless white sludge. Golurk howled, and its master screamed.

Taking advantage of the golem's distraction, Keith commanded, "Psychic, Metagross!"

Cheren saw Spiritomb already in motion. Pointing a finger at the quicksilver entity, he ordered, "Serperior, Haxorus, stop it from moving!"

Directing the burning stream towards the ghost, Haxorus belched out countless more streaks of flame, the blaze wreathing the phantom in an orb of searing color. Spiritomb glowed blue, and the inferno parted, morphing into a pair of swords. Preparing to send them at the drake, it was caught off guard as a twister of ripping, slashing leaves engulfed it in a mad frenzy. Serperior glared at it as the goblin struggled and growled while the spinning razors cut at its form, a ceaseless whirlpool of emerald. Occupied as it was by fending off the recalcitrant daggers, it was unable to assist Golurk. Metagross' entire sturdy frame was enveloped in an aura of pale light, and as it focused on the autmaton, joints crumpled and popped as invisble hands crushed them with the ease of a child manipulating Play-Doh. The screech of tearing metal soon filled the air, a twisted symphony that was somehow terrible to hear yet pleasing all the same. The Steel-Psychic tank was relentless in its telekinetic assault. Red eyes closed to almost slits, it sent unseen punches and lashes flying at the mountainous creature, an unending psychic barrage that would never stop until the golem was completely dismantled and its pieces were scattered about in a morbid scene of steel carnage.

Turning to Clay, Keith asked, "Want to do the honors?"

Clay grinned. "You bet."

To his Tyranitar and Rhyperior, he barked, "Both of you, finish it off with Flamethrower!"

The titans nodded and tensed, shimmering waves of heat and brimming tendrils of smoke leaking from their gaping maws in thick, swollen streams. Tongues of flames peered through gaps in knife-sharp teeth that could have just as easily torn into the autmaton's frail metal skin if they so wished. Alternating beams of red and orange flickered from their throats, lapping at the air and filling it with a burning odor. Acting as one, the two goliaths released their attacks at once, fiery gouts bursting from open mouths in a shower of sparks and shooting towards the golem.

Metagross' eyes shone blue, and the twin streams merged into a single, searing lance. As it sped across the ground, the grass withered and died where it passed over, scorched by the fierce warmth emanating from the burning spear. The colossus was dead in their sights now, a mountain now about to be toppled. Giving it one last burst of psychic energy, the psychic tank sent the lance soaring further ahead until, with a tremendous screech and a hiss, the arrow burst through the golem's chest, spearing the flailing spirit and drawing a pained cry from the ghost.

Golurk's once-yellow eyes now began to dull, dying out as the spark of life that powered it began to die out as well. Fingers detached from hands, hands detached from arms, and arms crumbled into pieces. The unnatural flare shrieked, but its cries were dulled. It was fading along with its host.

Snarling, Zinzolin snapped, "Spiritomb! Consume that spirit, and break free!"

Taken aback, Cheren asked, "What are you doing?"

Clay strode forward, only to be shoved roughly back as Spiritomb's ghastly spiritual aura filled the air once more. A heavy, dark haze hung over all of them, and in it, Cheren could smell the horrid, rotting scent more strongly than ever. Retching, he found his eyes inexplicably and inexorably forced upwards as thin, worm-like segments shot from the wraith and latched onto the dying green flare. With an atrocious tearing sound, the flame began fading faster than before, its energy being leeched and transferred to the reprobate creature before it.

Horrified, Clay cried, "Stop it, you lunatic! I warned you, _I warned you_-"

But the gruesome spectacle did not end, nor did it delay. The spirit gave another round of wails as its life was ripped from it during its last moments of existence. Spiritomb watched on in obvious satisfaction, its amorphous head burgeoning the more it consumed. When the soul had at last dissolved into an insignificant ember drifting lifelessly in the air, the wraith withdrew its fibrous arms, filled with new strength.

"Holy shit," Jeff whispered, awed.

There was no indication as to when Spiritomb had launched its attack. Jeff still remained in that fixated, dream-like state, only he was no longer breathing. A jagged scythe protruded from his chest, tiny trails of blood leaking into his shirt. Mouth agape, he convulsed violently and fell, a flower-shaped spot of red blooming over his heart.

It was impossible-no, totally incomprehensible how Spiritomb's power had grown so much just from the consumption of a single being. The miasma filled their lungs like pestilence, all of them wracked with sudden bouts of coughing. The feelings of dread he had felt before were multiplied tenfold. He couldn't even bring himself to move, or to fight. It all felt hopeless. Utterly hopeless.

"Fear!" raved Zinzolin, spittle flying from his foam-flecked lips. His demeanor had become completely unhined, all semblance of control gone. The poison-filled comments, the sinister smiles, the slick words; all of it had been torn away, it seemed, revealing a side to him Cheren didn't know even existed. Perhaps, though, it was the effects of Spiritomb's enhanced abilities now that were affecting his mind, pushing him dangerously close to the edge. They were all feeling it.

Futilely, Krookodile attempted a small move at revenge for its fallen trainer and failed. As it rose up, teeth bared, three Shadow Balls bloated to twice their size flew from the wraith and struck it soundly in the torso. A towering explosion of black and purple ensued, and when the smoke cleared, the dual-type was lying motionless next to Jeff, its body seared by infernal energies.

"Metagross..." rasped Keith, struggling to lift a hand. His Metagross gave a weak pulse in response, a pale barrier emerging from the blackened air and spreading to encompass them both. A single dark ray slashed the weak shield and shattered it to pieces, and a following Psychic sent trainer and Pokemon flying backwards, the two finally coasting to a stop amidst a pockmarked space of grass and dirt. The revenant growled, and it was bestial, guttural sound that invoked something horrible and raw in the back of Cheren's mind. He could feel himself slipping, a small measure of him being removed with each passing second he spent in the presence of the fiendish creature. Clay groaned, lying facedown on the ground and looking like he wanted to die. Tyranitar and Rhyperior were equally humbled, the once-formidable giants now kneeling in an ocean of misery.

"Fear!" howled the Sage, his expression demented and contorted into a grotesque new face. "Experience your absolution, heathens! The dragon punishes all, burning away the impurities of our corrupted nation! Your filth, your sins, shall be wiped free! This is your divine mercy, defilers! This is your blessing!" He guffawed. "_Fear _it, you men of wayward faith!" Zinzolin raised his hands in supplication, his expression one of twisted and perverted glory. "Fear-"

"Shadow Claw."

The Sage stopped in mid-rant, his bloodshot eyes searching for the speaker. "Who said that?" he snarled, his hands clawing at empty space, a testament as any other to his diminishing sanity. "Who? Who said it? Who said it? _Who said it_?"

There was no response from the speaker. Zinzolin let out a shrill cry, scrabbling at his robes like there was something filthy splattered all over it. His nose was scrunched in revulsion, his eyes glassy and open far too wide than was normal.

"Where are you?" he screeched. "Tell me! Are you another of the rebels, come to strike me down?" His expression grew feral. "Well, you can't! I am Zinzolin, one of the Seven Sages, and I will rid this _hellhole _and its denizens of their immoral, misguided-"

A pair of claws reached from the shadows and the Sage reeled back in magnified terror, his mouth opening and closing without sound. The hands burst directly below Spiritomb, latching onto the apparition's Keystone. With a grinding screech, the claws dug into the cursed stone, raking across the symbols and sigils etched into the binding rock.

The wraith turned upon the phantom attacker with eyes brimming with hatred and perhaps even some anxiety for the state of its physical anchor. Uttering a discordant howl, it summoned four deadly jet-black lances and launched them at the intruder, aiming with the intent to kill. At the last moment, the hands vanished into mist and the lances passed through, striking empty space. Reappearing above it, the claws struck down, tearing through Spiritomb's face and eliciting a pained screech from the ghoul while they traveled further and tore into the Keystone, cracking it.

Now truly panicked for its fate, the entity set about whipping up a whirling maelstrom of darkness around itself, a storm the color of pitch rising from the shadows and revolving rapidly around the twister's crux: Spiritomb. The creature's abhorrent aura only intensified at this, and Cheren could feel himself heaving, spilling his guts onto the tainted grass as the tornado whipped in front of his night-blinded eyes.

The claws fizzled in and out of sight, always striking at the Keystone whenver Spiritomb could not see. He could feel the apparition's horror at its impending destruction clouding the thick air even further, its emotions touching him and filling him with an equally crushing terror. He could feel his heart constricting, could sense its desperation, could hear the rapid _thump-thump-thumpthumpthump _of its heartbeat.

Like knives, the phantom hands reached in and slashed, faded, reached in and slashed, then faded again in a tormenting game of catch-me-if-you-can. Spiritomb's anger was palpable as it tried again and again to strike down its attacker to no avail. With each failure, its fear only grew, until the heavy dark mass of horror from all of its amalgamated souls was too much for Cheren to bear. His mind was breaking, his veins were being severed by burning scissors, he was going to _lose his MIND_-

Then, merciful release.

Going in for the final strike, the claws smashed into the Keystone, blowing it to smithereens. The old, brittle shards fell away and instantly came apart, falling as dust that was quickly whisked away. All that was left was Spiritomb at the middle, an intangible cluster of spiteful souls looking lost. Cheren recalled a bit of lore he once read at a library: although the Keystone served as the seal for Spiritomb and the rest of its kind, preventing them from getting too far out of control, it also served as a loadstone of sorts, magnetizing the individual souls and keeping them bound together. If the Keystone was destroyed, it meant the immediate dispersal of the supernatural entity. Or in layman's terms, an instantaneous, brutal death.

Time was still. The pendulum swung.

A shiver, a moment of anticipation.

Pain.

Loss.

Disorientation.

Panic.

And finally, the consummation. The end.

The phantom hung in midair for only a few seconds before it was wracked by a maddned cacophony of 108 voices, each trying to scream over the other. The ancient bindings that had held the wraith in place for years, for centuries, was coming undone with the destruction of the Keystone. The spiritual anchorings tethering it to the Earth were no longer in place, and so, the spirits disseminated. Spiritomb's purple-green features turned a gray-black shade, its eyes and mouth blurring into those of far more creatures than just one. The spirits all erupted at once, shooting free of the archaic seals and screaming all the way into oblivion. Their shrieks grew so deafening that Cheren feared he would never hear again.

Like fog, the broken souls shot up like a swirling geyser, each face subject to the warp and weft of the magical enchantments that had held them for so long being forcefully extracted and ruined. In a paroxysm of anguish, the wraith's many forms came undone, some of them fading instantly as they escaped into the air while the more resilient ones clung to life, desperate to stay in this world. Their desperation was for naught, however, as, with a last, gut-wrenching squeal, the entire ghastly legion disappeared in a sudden wave of darkness, which soon compressed itself into a dot of shadow that was quickly extinguished.

Silence.

As the phantoms dispersed, the dark clouds hovering over Cheren and Clay also cleared. The maelstrom subsided, fading along with the macabre smog. He sucked in a deep breath, the weight on his lungs lifting. Pushing himself up, he moaned and looked around, Clay rising with him.

His eyes instantly locked on a lone figure standing a few feet away with a Galvantula by his side.

Alec.

In all the commotion before, he had forgotten about the boy, but as he made eye contact with the solitary child standing so aloof, so _quiet_, he felt a creeping sense of unease descending upon him.

"Alec?" he asked, his voice catching as he felt a disturbing coldness shifting underneath his feet. Looking down, he was struck with the sight of a smiling imp grinning from his shadow.

The person he once knew as Alec gave a subtle twist of his hand, and all too suddenly he felt the ground rushing up to meet his head. The shock of the motion made him gasp, the breath going out of him as an invisible force held him down. He didn't even have to think to know what it was. He was quite familiar with its effects by now.

Psychic.

Choking on dirt and turning his head to one side in an attempt to see what was going on, he only saw Alec walking towards Zinzolin, Galvantula in tow. As he watched, Alec's features seemed to shimmer and melt, peeling away from him in layers and revealing the true person beneath. A white-haired man, dressed in dark clothes and moving with infinite stealth and care. A member of the Shadow Triad. An involuntary shiver went through him at the sight of this stony-faced assassin.

Cursing under his breath, Cheren fought vainly against the telekinetic pressure and only succeeded in pinning his arm underneath him. _How could they have missed it?_ he wondered. _How could any of us have missed it?_

He not only felt defeated, he knew it, too. Although he couldn't see it, he assumed his Pokemon were trapped by a similar force, as were Clay's own brood. Straining his ears, he listened as the Shadow approached Zinzolin, some wicked intent in mind.

"W-what are you here for?" the Sage spluttered, seemingly now regaining small parts of his normal self without the influence of Spiritomb. "I had it under control! I was about to defeat these infidels before you interfered!"

"You were about to lose yourself, Zinzolin. You gave it a soul to consume." There was a lull, in which Cheren imagined the Shadow giving Zinzolin a look devoid of warmth and the Sage flinching away. "Lord Ghetsis instructed you never to go to such measures. Ever."

"It was necessary!" the Sage spat. "I was going to lose! Did you expect me to-"

"You could have won on your own without any extra boosts from the Golurk. Spiritomb was judged to be of adequate power to take on at least three of these trainers at once, even without the use of consumption. Yet, you blundered. You fed it. Have you ever heard this phrase? 'Give an enemy an inch, and he will take a mile?' "

"No." Zinzolin was in denial. "I could have handled it. I was its _master_."

"You were a pawn, as seen through its eyes. A helper who supplied it with a chance to relieve some of its anger and, if you ever became of no use to it, could be considered a piece of food. And the disabled capping system. We anticipated this, but you still chose to take such a drastic measure in the face of a little danger?" The Shadow waggled a finger. "How immature. How foolish. How poorly conceived and executed."

"I-"

"As of this moment, you are no longer the leader of this operation. I will be taking over from here, seeing as you could not even exercise the self-restraint to control the creature Lord Ghetsis gifted to you. Step aside."

"Hold on, just-"

With a sound like a thunderclap, psychic shackles materialized from thin air and bound Zinzolin, closing his mouth in the process. Powerless, he dangled inches above the ground, staring at the Shadow in surprise. Like he had never expected to be put down so suddenly, to have all his power stripped from him in an instant. The old man truly thought that he was an indispensible part of this mission. In some small fragment of his brain currently unoccupied with more pressing matters at hand, Cheren thought, _Idiot._

Turning and addressing them, the Shadow said, "As for you, Lord Ghetsis shall allow you a small modicum of freedom. You will be allowed to use your eyes and your ears while you witness your end."

The pressure lessened, and he found himself dragged back up until he was standing again. The ground beneath him lurched as the imps-there were several more of them-bolted from under their captives and swarmed to the Shadow's feet, floating into the air and taking on their three-dimensional forms.

Five Gengar. Each one wearing a Cheshire Cat's grin on a mouth full of needle-sharp teeth. Each one with glowing slit-pupiled eyes serving as the only indicator of their psychic power. In such a large group, the coldness and _absence _each phantom radiated could be felt even from where he stood. Goosebumps formed all along his arms, and a strong feeling of fear pulsed in his ever-beating heart.

The Shadow faced them, surrounded by his morbid retinue and guarded by the yellow-furred, bristling Galvantula. The once-docile arachnid now seemed agitated, spitting hissing streams of lightning from its fangs that scorched the ground they touched. With a flick of his hand, the Shadow drew a black Pokeball from his belt. Bright lines of blue ran laterally over its surface, each line glowing with a dulled radiance. Strangely, as he strained to look at the sphere, the streaks reminded Cheren of lightning bolts.

"Gym Leader Clay, look and witness a god in action." Curving his hand up, Shadow Three tossed the Pokeball upwards, where it hung for scant moments before opening.

Like the tendrils of some eldritch beast, ribbons of yet undefined light spilled from the edges of the orb, cascading onto the ground and coalescing into a solid yet undefined form. The radiant waves broke like sea foam, swelled, expanded, contracted, and shaped the beast inside, finally assuming definite shape and tearing away from the newly-formed Pokemon.

He could not believe what he saw.

Cheren hadn't been present when the battle between N and Touko had taken place. He had not seen the gods in action, had not had a chance to observe them as they fought. He had no perception of what they looked like, or the raw, sensuous feeling of _life _and _power _they exuded from every pore. He had never seen a deity.

Not until now.

The celestial being before him was one he had studied before at Professor Juniper's lab or in books, but never truly in the dedicated depth of devoted scholars. Nonetheless, the giant's physical attributes could not be ignored. Thick blue skin that covered the heave and undulation of rippling muscles. A band of steel orbs that were fashioned into a strange ornamental chestpiece wrapping around its torso but never touching the flesh; instead, it hovered around it, a ring floating solely on the electromagnetic charges given off by the figure. Resting upon a single, puffy white cloud, it glared at them from under bushy eyebrows and through slanted eyes. The unmistakable sharp tang of ozone hung heavy in the air like a blanket. He could feel the hairs on his neck standing on end, and not just from the creature's immense static field.

Thundurus.

Thundurus, a bringer of the storms and summoner of lightning. The antithesis to its brother Tornadus, it was a being who ravaged not with wind but with bolts of divine fire that it called down from the skies themselves.

Thundurus. A member of the divinity in the flesh.

Sky-Ogre. Heavenly Archer. The Raijin.

None of its many titles could not have prepared him for being confronted by the behemoth's actual appearance. His mouth would have dropped open had it not been for the telekinetic bindings fastening him to the ground. He stared. He dispelled prior imaginings, for in the face of the real thing, they were but childish fancies. He was well and truly awed into incoherence.

"We have gods on our side," the Shadow intoned. "What do you have that can face the Raijin himself?"

For once, he had no answer to the man's question.

He heard a plaintive, angered hiss from his Serperior. Turning his head with difficulty, he made eye contact with the snake. His partner. His best friend.

The serpent's look was full of sadness. It didn't take a genius to figure out why.

Despite all of their preparations, despite the vigilant fighters who had so bravely volunteered to act as the city's defense, despite Clay's refusal to accept the fact, he knew that Driftveil was over.

"Thunder."

The first bolt erupted from the heavens in a flash of blinding, heated power, the bolt plummeting down onto the city like a divine arrow. An entire house collapsed nearby from the intensity of the blast, its glass windows shattering and paint peeling away. Where the bolt had struck, there was only a black, smoldering patch of earth utterly devoid of vegetation or the remains of whatever unlucky person who might have been caught up in its wake. The noise itself was a trumpeting, bellowing thing that could have been issued from the World-Serpent himself. Cheren's teeth chattered, his eyes were hot with tears, and he prayed for a quick end to it all.

Hearing a triumphant roar, he saw Tyranitar apparently shaking free of its psychic holdings and staggering towards the Shadow, murderous intent in mind. The pair of Gengar holding it back gave simultaneous cries as their grip on its body slipped, though they recovered fast and launched twin Shadow Balls at the rampaging monolith, the orbs blazing with their own unique shine.

Tyranitar took both attacks and shook them off, clearly not taking much damage. Howling, its mouth snapped open, and Cheren glimpsed a pitch-black grain swelling into monstrous size. It was charging up a Dark Pulse, intending to take out the Gengar and perhaps even Thundurus in a single, swift stroke.

_Go, _he wished. _Take them out, take them out, take them out!_

The lightning-god uttered a throaty growl and drew its thick arms diagonally across the air, a hustling coil of electricity immediately springing up. Clapping its palms together, the deity sent the bolt flying at Tyranitar, an executioner's blade of the holier variety. It struck Tyranitar in the chest, and Cheren saw the drake's eyes widen in alarm, its dilated pupils drifting down to the newly-made hole over its lungs. Scraps of flesh flecked the bits of its armor still intact, but a void had been seared into its body. A void from which it would never live from.

He heard Clay give a muffled shout as his Pokemon toppled over and lay still, eyes still opened in perplexity. He listened to Serperior whipping wildly against its immaterial prison, making a valiant attempt at freedom.

"Witness absolution."

The god raised its hands upward, the air warping violently as it did so. Cheren could only imagine the amounts of power coursing through its body right now-power that would kill any normal human. And maybe even a Pokemon.

He closed his eyes, but was unable to shut out the full force of the devastation.

Endless beams of brilliant, all-consuming lightning rained from the sky, summoned by the deity's call. Like falling stars, each bolt found a mark somewhere on the city's map. Rays impacted houses and destroyed the structures instantly upon impact, reducing once-grand buildings into burning, insubstantial pieces of brick and melted steel. Grass peeled away from the radius of each strike, burning up so thoroughly that not even ash was left behind. Deafening thunderclaps filled the air as each celestial bullet poured down on Driftveil in a blazing, terrifying cascade.

The tears rolling down his face were like painful daggers tearing gashes in his skin. They burned and reeked of salt. Each bolt struck and was punctuated by a chorus of screams rising up from the trainers, while the grunts shouted praises. His tears dried instantly upon his cheeks, leaving behind bitter trails.

He gazed at his Serperior once again. The snake gave him an imploring, beseeching stare. Not an invitation, exactly, but a simple request. One that he gave into.

Giving a final struggle against his bonds, blocking out the shrieks of those caught up in the volley of sizzling thunderbolts and the explosions occurring all throughout the city's neighborhoods, he tore an arm free from the psychic grip and reached out for Serperior. The snake, in turn, sent out a thin, vine-like tendril, a proxy arm to mimic the contact that they could not have.

They almost reached each other.

Almost.

Then a bolt crashed into the ground directly in front of him and it was pure blackness for his mind.

Dark.

Dark.

Dark.

Fade.

* * *

**EDITED AS OF 6/5.**


	7. Chapter 6: Nigrum

**A/N: First of all, I want to announce that we've hit 100 followers! Woohoo! Once again, I have you guys to thank. Without all you readers, none of this would have been possible, and I am forever grateful to everyone who has/is reviewing/favoriting/following, or just reading in general. Thank you all so much for allowing this story to reach this milestone! :)**

**Thank you to those who reviewed Ch6: _aliceelric7, Blu Rose, ikutolover182, Caroline Nadia, dark-depths-of-space, zeref288, DemosthenesLocke101, gaeiaangelis, TheEighthHeapChild, accadian, Koneko29, AldrutheBrovahkiin, TweeLittle, TwinSunsOfMars, EmpyreanHost19, The Light's Refrain, darkviola, Haine-chan, graystarburst, xCassiopeianx, zephyrwindstorm, jack, Guest (6/18), endraken, azarath, Nyaaaaaaaaaa, PhantomhiveKitty, kufufurokudo, SnowGlaceon, krypto, accadian (Guest), Nightraze, Precocious, shadowkitten11, Guest (7/6), weavingathousandravens, _and _thousandravens. _Thank you all for reviewing! To those who reviewed previous chapters, I think I got to you by PM. :)**

**shadowkitten11: Some N/Touko interaction this chapter. Hope you enjoy. **

**So, this is Part 1 of the end of Part 1. Part 2 will be following shortly, maybe in another few weeks or so. And then the real Part 2 will start, which will be sometime in the future. Not gonna say when, though; read on later and see. ;)**

**!Because this chapter is quite long, I'd recommend not reading it all in one sitting.!**

* * *

"He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground-foxes in their cover. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it."

-Cormac McCarthy, "The Road"

* * *

**The world draws to a close  
But as the circle ends  
****So a new empire shall be born from the remains of the old  
And a castle of thunder and ashes shall rise**

-:-:-

[\/\/] (1: Crystallization-**The Beginning**) [\/\/]

-:-:-

**CHAPTER 6: Nigrum **(_Black_)

_A fallen princess locked in the prince's cage_

Touko barely flinched as another needle was unwrapped, filled, and inserted into her arm. A few goosebumps rose at the first sharp prick, but they quickly subsided. When the needle was removed, a few drops of blood, carmine and jewel-like, rose from the puncture. They glistened in the overhead lights. One of the nurses on hand dipped a cotton ball in a dish filled with a small amount of alcohol and swabbed the site of the injection, then placed a fresh, white band-aid over the small wound. She flexed her arm, swinging it back and forth as the doctors had instructed.

The skin along her joints felt itchy and raw and a little wet; it was disorienting. She supposed it might have been a natural reaction after having worn casts for so many weeks while she waited for her bones to set. The sensation was prickly and strange, and it felt like her body was lighter. The casts had been attached to her limbs for so long that having them taken off was almost like shedding a second layer of skin. It was weird. Distantly, she wondered if this was what baby Pidove felt when they hatched from their eggs-first, a moment of confusion, then light, then stickiness as they pecked their way out of their hard shells and emerged into the wider world, with eggshell bits still clinging to their tiny bodies.

She felt like a Pidove hatchling herself, all frail bones and itching skin and bright lights and vertigo. And this room was her egg, so to speak. Curtains of her chestnut hair hung over her eyes and she pushed them out of the way as the doctor began speaking.

"After this injection, you may feel some stiffness in the upper regions of your body, inclding the areas around your elbows, shoulders, and neck. Movement is advised, but remember not to exert yourself too much." The man in the blue hospital scrubs had glanced at her like she might bolt at his words. "Your body is still healing, albeit at a much faster rate than we expected. However, your bones are fragile, and just the slightest actions could disturb them. Keep that in mind, please."

She had been receiving-_was_ still receiving, really-booster shots and a cocktail mixture of antiobotics for the past week or so. The painkillers they gave her during the initial stages of recovery had addled her immune system, it seemed, and now it seemed as if the medical team assigned to her was scrambling to pump her full of the right vitamins to accelerate the recovery process and have her health back to normal. Not that anything too bad had happened yet, though. The worst thing she had caught was a minor cold, which was quickly resolved with a few bowls of Torchic noodle soup and some thick, pink medicine that tasted like overripe strawberries and liquor. The taste was foul, but it was effective; it also made her sleep.

Nowadays, her schedule consisted of little but lapsing in and out of consciousness, eating dully, and staring at the sky-like scenes painted on the walls. The fluffy white clouds and the cheerily blue background aggravated her in their sickening sweetness. The room was too falsely happy, too busy trying to hide what it was in actuality-just a prison, and nothing more, nothing less. She understood that it was formerly N's childhood bedroom, but the saccharine scenes filling every inch of her vision made her stomach churn. _Like kaleidoscopic brain vomit_, she mused with some dark humor. The endless supply of romance novels didn't provide comfort, but rather disgusted her more. Whatever childishly immature ploy at love N was trying to force over her eyes, she didn't care for it a single bit. Pages and pages of love-she felt none of it. After a while, she had stopped using the reader altogether, preferring to spend her days in relative silence rather than pick it up and start reading again.

Oh, the depths to which his heart and its twisted fantasies could possibly sink, she couldn't begin to imagine. Her mind wandered, dredging up painful memories and disturbing imagery locked inside her head. It was all she could do, confined to the bed and with no hope of leaving her room unless N felt like it. There seemed to be no discernible door, yet she _knew _there was; how else would Anthea and the medical team come in? Through the walls like ghosts? The notion was improbable, the exit was unreachable, and she felt herself spiraling into some dark, abyssal pit with every second that ticked by.

Dreaming was the worst. When she was awake, she knew, with utter certainty, that the dead could not harm her, that they could not come back to haunt her in her living hours. When she dreamed, however, the mind presented all sorts of nightmarish irrationalities. Fire that circled her and morphed into a variety of leering, bestial faces, herself falling from the top of the world, and Samurott. Her beloved Samurott would appear next to her bed, and the sight of it would conjure vivid remembrances of her world before all the Hero business and the fate of Unova weighing so heavily on her head.

And then, it would pounce onto her covers, its heavy body crushing the breath out of her lungs as it breathed its corpse-smell onto her face, its body decaying rapidly and turning to ashes, and it would look her in the eye without saying a word. Arceus knew just what was in that look: anguish, desire, hatred, and most of all, a piercing, razor-sharp vengeance directed at her. It communicated volumes with those dead corpse-eyes.

_I trusted you_, it said. _And you let me die. Where did your resolution go, Touko? Where were you when I passed away, when the king and his dragon burned me to cinders?_

She wanted to scream, _I was there! I wanted to save you! _But it would always be too late. Her Samurott would die again and again, flaking away into black soot, and she would awake screaming until her throat was raw and they had to sedate her with a tranquilizer of some sort to get her to go back to sleep.

In her dreams, she died a thousand deaths with her starter. She always woke with the phantom smell of ashes on her skin and a blistering heat coursing through her body. When she inquired about her nightmares, Anthea only told her that the room was soundproof and no one else could hear her screams.

_I trusted you and you let me die you weak, weak BITCH_

Soundproof. No one could hear her screams but herself. The thought, oddly enough, had caused her to giggle wildly for about a minute or so until Anthea had stared at her strangely and given her another pill to take. They were all bitter, the pills. They tasted like death on her tongue and were colored blue.

_Corpse-breath on her, all over her like hundreds of Spinarak or Joltik crawling over her skin, goosebumps and raised hairs and the fetid, pungent scent of decay enveloping her like a cloud, Samurott exhaling and a mist of death-vapors falling into her hair, into her pores, and being transmitted through the rest of her system like a disease_

Blue. She never dreamed that a color could pain her, but it did. It hurt more than a thousand needles piercing her flesh ever could.

There was another sharp sting as another needle was reloaded and stuck against her skin. Needles, in general, didn't bother her like they bothered some people. Touko was generally indifferent to injections of any sort, though the feeling of faux rigor mortis afterwards in the affected sectors was rather unpleasant to experience. Blood, dark red and oozing in dew drops. Swab with alcohol, apply band-aid. The entire process reminded her somewhat of a factory assembly line, but she wasn't sure if she was the metaphorical line or the metaphorical product. Quite possibly the line.

Anthea handed her a glass filled with water and a softly dissolving tablet at the bottom. "Drink," she ordered, not unkindly.

Touko did as she was told. She downed the glass in a single gulp, swallowing the half-gone pill with it and wincing at the bitter medicinal aftertaste. The pink-haired woman promptly replaced the empty glass and filled it up again, this time without a tablet. Touko took it gratefully and drained it a second time, washing the taste out of her mouth.

"Are you alright?" Anthea asked, examining Touko's arm. "Do you feel any soreness or itching?"

"No."

"Any shortness of breath?"

"No."

"Are you experiencing headache-like symptoms, including dizziness, vertigo, or-"

"Anthea," Touko interrupted, holding up a hand. Anthea stopped. "These symptoms...how likely are they?"

"There is a ten percent chance that you could suffer from any one of the aforementioned symptoms and more out of a hundred, I believe."

"Ten percent? That's not a lot, is it?"

"And the most severe symptom that could be experienced?"

"A minor blackout," Anthea replied with all the emotion of one reciting a grocery list or counting a set of numbers.

"So, there's only a ten percent chance that I could, theoretically, pass out, feel nauesous, or start choking. Not a very high percentile, right?"

"Yes."

"So, why the questions?"

"Standard procedure."

"Ah." She scratched at her wrist, leaving pale, nail-drawn marks across her skin. Tucking a strand of dry chestnut hair behind her ear, she let out a heavy sigh. It was full, lethargic, and wheezing, as if she had a cold. With that thought in mind, she broke out into a small coughing fit, and Anthea bent over and patted her on the back until it subsided.

"You are fine?"

"Yes, I am." Touko stretched, wincing as a small spasm of pain went through her spine. She still wasn't fully recovered; that was now painfully obvious. She busied herself with scratching her knees, and asked, "I'm hungry. Can I have something to eat?"

She wasn't really hungry-she hadn't had a large appetite in weeks and would have gladly foregone eating if they let her (too much effort to eat and pretend she was one of the living)-but she made herself do it anyway, like she sometimes used to when she overcame her initial fear of imposing upon the hospitality of her hosts, because really, there wasn't much hospitality that could be offered in this colorful, nauseating prison-cell, anyhow. Just going through the motions in robotic, dead movements.

Anthea reached behind her, into the wooden wicker basket she carried around (sometimes she brought caramels; these Touko ate without life, without joy), and produced an apple, shiny and round and the color of blood. A ruby, gem-like thing. She stared at it without comprehension.

"Here," she said, offering the fruit. "For you. It'll help sate your cravings for at least thirty minutes, or until lunch arrives." When Touko made no move to take it, Anthea thrust the apple out even further. "You said you were hungry, yes? Eat up. It's good for you and you need the nutrition."

In that instant, she reminded Touko of her mother, who had often lectured her on the Xtransceiver about the value of proper nutrition and whether she was getting three square meals a day and that she was going to get scurvy if she only ate the standard, Trainer-issued rations like beef jerky and dried, hard fruits; she needed _real_ food, her mother would stress, after the usual, _Touko, darling, you really are getting too thin. Eat more, get some hot meals at the Pokemon Centers! Don't subsist only on crackers and salty beef, you know it's bad and I don't understand how those things can seem so appetizing in the first place._

Always with a slightly indignant huff at the end, but a good-natured one, and then their conversation would lapse back into friendlier, more mundane topics. She missed her mom. She wondered how she was doing.

_Really, darling, you are getting much too thin! You look like one of the dead, dear._

Somewhat unwillingly, she reached out and took the apple from Anthea's hand, feeling the smoothness of the scarlet skin and smelling its rich fruit-smell. She took a bite, sinking her teeth into it, and immediately, juices ran out, trickled through her itchy fingers, and onto her hospital gown. It was like she was drooling, only she wasn't. Touko tore off a chunk of apple and swallowed. It tasted sweet. Sickeningly sweet.

_red and orange and yellow and blue, look out in your dreams, I'm coming for you ARE DEAD _

_you look like one of the dead, dear, you need to eat more get a hot meal for yourself and your Pokemon_

She swallowed, the chewed apple clump lodging in her throat. Steeling her resolve, she forced the saliva-coated mass down her throat and into her stomach. A faintly unpleasant taste lingered in her mouth, in her teeth, on her lips.

Too sweet.

_remember to get Oshawott some of that Basculin-flavored food, you know it's his favorite, yes you do, dear_

Anthea was dabbing at her juice-slicked hands with a napkin, wiping off the sweetness and frowning. "Please continue to eat, Miss Touko. Don't mind me." Wipe. "Go on, eat."

_corpse-breath, reeking of the dead, it was in her clothes, in the tenuous fibers of her being, this deadness, and Samurott leering over her, a macabre perversion of the friend she once loved and battled with, breathing its stinking tomb-breah into her nostrils_

Suddenly, she felt very sick to her stomach, as if she was going to throw up. The apple danced before her eyes, a flickering spot of red, almost like a bloodstain in the air. Her peripheral vision flashed and flickered like a bad movie screen. She handed the apple back. A single bite, marked by her teeth, stood out in the center. One spot of white among a colorscape of red.

"I don't want it. I'm not hungry anymore."

Anthea looked up, having finished with her wiping. The napkin was sodden in several spots from the apple juice. Her expression was one of minor perplexity. "Are you? You just said that you were hungry. That was why you wanted food."

"It's just...I've lost my appetite."

"You've been losing your appetite over the months, have you?"

Touko rocked back a little. "Yeah. I guess." She fidgeted with a stray thread, watching it unwind with every pull.

"You have to eat, you know."

"No, I don't." She gave Anthea a look, her hollow eyes rimmed with dried tears. "It'd be better if I just starved, right?"

"Miss Touko-"

"You might not think so, having been appointed my _psychiatrist_ and all, but I know Ghetsis and the others who want me out would have a party if I died."

"_Miss Touko_," Anthea repeated, her voice concerned but hard. "What is the matter with you?"

"Not much."

"That is clearly a lie."

"No, I'm okay. I'm telling the truth. You can go now. Thanks, bye." Touko rolled over, pressing her face against her pillow, her brown curls spilling everywhere. They were as lifeless as twigs, and as dry as them, too. The pillow smelled like salt. Like tears. _Her _tears.

"Touko, you must eat. It's not something you can merely shrug off, like you've done with so many other things. You need to eat." As persistent as ever, she found the apple shoved back against her face, dripping juice onto her cheeks. Sweet. Too sweet. "_Eat_, please."

"I'm not hungry."

"That's also a lie. You ate ravenously for a while, gobbling up everything we gave you like it wasn't enough. Now, you reject even something as small as an apple? Eat."

"I don't like apples."

A sigh. "Then what do you like, then?"

"Pears. Apricots. Lemons. Pomegranates. Fuck it, I don't even like fruit that much." She gripped her pillow, turning away from Anthea. "Just leave me alone."

Another sigh. It sounded resigned this time. "Is something the matter?"

"Nothing is. Just go away, please."

"I cannot. I've been assigned as one of your caretakers. It is my duty to watch over you and intervene, in the case that your health or well-being is threatened."

"And this is supposed to count as one of those instances?"

"If you are not eating, you will begin to suffer from malnutrition, and, more severely, gradual starvation. You must eat. If not apples, then something else can be substituted. What is most important is that you are consuming the proper amount of calories per day to ensure that you recover-"

"You sound just like my mom, you know. Caring about me and what I eat." She rolled over, facing the ceiling. "Why, though? Because it's your job? Wouldn't it just be better if you let me, you know, _not _eat?"

"I fail to see how that would be the more advantageous alternative for either of our parties, Miss Touko."

"Because I...wouldn't be a burden any more."

"Miss Touko, are you feeling depressed? Do you have any...dark thoughts?" Anthea's voice now held a touch of concern, and even smaller, a fragile bit of desperation. "I could prescribe a course of antidepressants, if you'd like. To be taken in moderation, of course," she hastily amended after seeing Touko's vacant, lusterless eyes rolling around to face her. The girl's face looked nearly skeletal. A brief question crossed Anthea's mind-had she been _deliberately _avoiding meals? No, it was impossible. She or her sister were always there to supervise their ward, making sure she ate her food and didn't injure herself in some foolish attempt to get out of bed while still in her casts. But then, she glanced at the bedpan, wondering...

"More drugs?" Touko muttered. "Fine, I guess. Give me some morphine too, while you're at it."

"I said in moderation. Unless you are experiencing truly severe physical pains, you will not be allowed to receive any more morphine doses. You're forming an attachment with these drugs."

"It's your fault for pumping me full of them," she murmured, eyes flickering across the cloud-studded sky. "And now you want to renege on that?"

"Miss Touko, what you need now is food, not morphine. You've had enough painkillers pumped into your system; I agree with you on that. But right now, that should not be one of your problems. You are recovering. You need food to anchor your body, to make sure that you're strong enough to fight off any disease or infection that might come your way."

"I said, _I don't fucking want to._" Touko sounded less like a petulant child now and more like a cynical, angry adult.

"If you don't eat, then we will be forced to put on back onto the IV drip again. You will be treated as your first were after your accident. Confined to this bed, and furthermore, this room, for an even longer duration of time."

At this, the girl's eyes flickered with some sort of annoyance and glared at her. Anthea did not flinch.

"I doubt that would be very pleasant for you, would it? Bedrest for another month or so."

Touko sat up straight, her pupils dark and filled with a barely contained fury. Less so at the conditions proposed by Anthea if she did not cooperate, but the mere idea that even now, her captors were manipulating her, making the fact that this room was less of a home and more of a prison even more clear, more distinct.

And then, suddenly, the fight seemed to go out of her frail body. Her shoulders slumped, she exhaled a heavy breath, and reached for the apple.

"Would you like me to cut it for you?"

"Sure. Whatever."

Touko was lifeless again, gazing blankly at the colors splattered on the walls. Bleeding blue and white.

Anthea took from the basket a small knife; hardly a switchblade, but almost close. The handle was made of mahogany, and etched into the steel was a simple pattern of cherry blossoms. With it, the pink-haired woman set to work paring and slicing off pieces of apple, the red fruit shiny in the lights above.

Offered the slices, Touko had no choice but to accept. Her fingers took the pieces and popped them into her mouth, chewing robotically and without joy. Sweetness burst on her tongue, but she took no notice of this. Rather, she resisted the urge to spit them out.

Noticing the grimace that came upon her face, Anthea ordered, "Keep eating." She held out another slice. Touko ate.

They did this again and again until the apple was gone and Touko felt like she was going to vomit. Steeling herself, she managed to keep the pieces down. Sugary juice lingered on her teeth and gums and she licked it off, bile rising in her throat.

They sat in silence for a while. It was not a companionable silence; Touko's fingers wound around each other in spidery, sharp motions while Anthea watched her, something like sadness flickering across her features.

"You are sad," she said, after the lull had reached its breaking point. Touko said nothing.

"It is certainly understandable," Anthea continued. "And my Lord N truly sympathizes for your loss. Samurott has been kept in stasis for you to decide what you want to do. This decision was made with you in mind."

She still refused to open her lips and speak. To do so would invite the darkness (_blue_) inside her, and if it got into her mind any more, she wasn't sure if she could fend off the nightmarish images. She could already feel herself drowning in it. A sea of dark, terrible blue, tossed by dead waves and pursued by the demons of her soul.

_Blue._

The new color of blood.

"Innocence is N's gift," she continued, "but it is also his curse. His mind is impossibly vast and yet incredibly limited at the same time. A galaxy within a mote of dust. An enigma. Some part of him, the rational part, clearly understands his wrongs and wishes to attone for them. And the child part, the part more in tune with his emotions, grieves for your loss." She was quiet for few seconds, her hands clasped. "You must understand, the death of a Pokemon-especially yours-was never part of his plans. The power of the Legendary, the _wrath _of the Yang Dragon, was something he never accounted for. He's ashamed of himself-no, he's horrified. If you know him, you know how dearly he values the lives of his Pokemon. He only fights when it is necessary. And they fight for him, whenever, wherever, and forever."

Touko coughed. Her eyes were warm.

_Blue. _

"He has many who love him, who adore him, and just as many who hate and despise him. He cannot understand the opposers. In his mind, his childish self has discarded concepts of death and destruction in favor of a more logical, organized world, a world in which only numbers exist and all variables are accounted for. The real world...it is almost foreign to him. He has grown up with beasts, and their simpler way is all that he knows. But," she went on, treading with caution, "the world is unforgiving. It is a harsher place. A place he does not fully know, and one I doubt he will ever truly understand.

"He would, if given the chance, do anything to accomplish his goals. He cannot be held accountable for what he cannot comprehend. A child cannot be held accountable for spilling juice onto the carpet, because it is not versed in the knowledge of punishments, of repercussions. All it knows is its own world. And, as guardians, we must correct the mistakes he makes. We must teach.

"Lord N is an innocent person. But there is nothing as purely terrifying as innocence." Her eyes rolled up to face Touko, who was still studiously observing the ceiling.

"His grief is self-flagellating," Anthea said, her rose-tinted irises downcast, her arms folded across her lap. "But if you think he is not sorry, that he is glad you are in pain, then you are wrong."

Silence. Touko reached up and wound a strand of hair around her fingers. It felt brittle, like bones. And dry.

_No water_

"Have you ever heard the myth of Lacunosa Town?" asked Anthea, quite abruptly, the question coming seemingly out of nowhere. Touko's eyes lolled in their sockets as she shook her head in a barely perceptible 'no.' Or, it could have been just a random, directionless movement. She wasn't really thinking of anything at the moment. Nevertheless, taking the shake as confirmation that Touko hadn't, Anthea launched into a story she had undoubtedly been preparing and waiting to unleash at this pivotal point.

"As with all stories, there are grains of truth nestled within a sea of distortions and alterations," she said. "Legends started out passed down from generation to generation by word of mouth. Orally. Such things, such changes, are bound to happen, as each of us is different from one another. We tweak. We change."

She blew hair out of her eyes, letting the air out of her lungs like a punctured balloon.

"It is said that, before Unova, there was merely a flat plateau of land. Reshiram and Zekrom, the titans of fire and lightning, were not yet there to fill the land, to give it life and shape. Only the most primordial of life forms lived on this land, this landscape of rock and dry brush.

"Traditional mythology asserts that the being which is believed to reside on the outskirts of Lacunosa Town came from the heavens themselves, riding in a meteor containing a winter so cold and so absolute that when it landed and the being broke free of its vessel, the ice age descended upon the world. But, several other sources claim otherwise. Ancient texts and cave drawings depict that when the combined form of Reshiram and Zekrom descended upon what would be Unova to carve out a new world, it discarded in its wake a shell. The shell was a inversion of its power. A negative copy, you might say.

"While the original dragon exhaled its fiery breath and brought life wherever it walked, the shell that had been abandoned still held within it a spark of life. As the dragon spread its life-giving energy across desert fields, some of that power flowed into the ground and was absorbed by the shell. Spurred by this, it finally had the energy it needed to become a fully living being, complete with sentience. It could think. It could choose. It was, in its own right, a god.

"But the dragon was, at heart, an uneducated god. It knew not the full extent of its powers and the chaos it could cause if it used them haphazardly. Its mind was old but infantile, and it spread its coldness across Unova, withering the fresh-sprung plants and turning oceans into ice. It was a new variable, a new factor, and a powerful one at that.

"So it went through the region, a dragon of gray skin and icy wings, and it sent ahead of it countless blizzards to freeze and ravage the land. It crept into towns and cities at night and carted off sleeping people to eat. It did all this, and still, it did not understand the misery that filled its wake, the impending horror of the Unovans that they would be next to face the monster's supposed rage.

"However, rage had nothing to do with it. It simply devoured humans to survive. It had a rather single-minded purpose about it, and that was to live. To exist, to forever relish the thrall of life. Of course, no one understand its reasons and instead perceived it as a demon intent on killing everything it crossed. They turned against it, driving it back into the chasm from which it first emerged, and with the help of the original dragon, sealing it in a mountain where its cold could harm no one.

"The hollow one was confused. It didn't realize that it was doing anything wrong. Consumed by loneliness and anger at having been trapped in an abyss, it slept and vowed to bide its time so that it could take revenge on those who had wronged it."

Anthea gave a small exhalation of breath. "Lacunosa's residents will tell you that the unspoken pact that all must be back home by dusk is because of their ancient, ingrained fears of the hollow dragon returning and picking them off, one by one. That is, in part, true, but it is not the whole truth. They remain in their houses during nightfall because an old prophecy, believed to be the last words of the hollow dragon, states that on the day of its return, it will break free of its cavern during the darkest of nights and call forth enough snow and frost to bury the region in white."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Touko asked, picking at her fingernails.

"Nothing in particular," Anthea replied, her voice calm. "But, I suppose it could be considered more than just myth, a tale to while away the hours."

"It's not a tale to while away the hours," Touko muttered. "It's a tale to extend them to impossibly long and boring stretches." She kicked away a blanket. "By the way, the dragon has a name, you know. Number 152 on the Unovan Pokedex-at least, before any of this shit happened. Kyurem."

"That is its name?"

"Yeah. None of you would know it, though, considering your obsession with Pokemon liberation."

"You speak of that concept with such distaste," noted Anthea, "but Pokemon liberation is actually a very pure cause at heart, if you consider it. The abused, the defenseless, the mute...society considers only humans, and very rarely takes into the account the Pokemon who are hit and called cruel names by their owners." She placed a hand over her chest. "The rights of those who cannot fight back must be championed."

"Yeah, fine."

She shook her head. "You do not really understand." She seemed sad, almost wistful in the pale glow of the fluorescent lights. "The name 'Kyurem' is merely a label, not a true definition. Man has always assigned names in an attempt to describe their world, but labels are not everything." Her fingers wound neatly through the spaces in between her hands, her pink hair falling softly over her shoulders. "You cannot see the darkness," she murmured. "Every light, no matter how bright, casts an equally dark shadow. You see only in one shade of color."

Anthea got up, preparing to leave the room. Before she did, she called over her shoulder, "Please eat. You need your energy. Lord N wants to visit with you later."

But Touko had already stopped listening.

[/ / /]

She awoke from a bad dream, her recollection of it fading and becoming an indistinguishable blur of colors and shapes as she was roused from her sleep. A pair of slim, cool hands touched the bare skin of her shoulder where her nightgown had slipped a few inches. Blinking not entirely sleepily, she pulled herself up to a sitting position.

"What is it?" she asked.

Concordia answered, "Lord N requests your presence."

"He's coming here?"

"No. He has granted you the privilege, for this occasion, to leave your room and visit elsewhere."

She felt a strange dullness in her heart, like her whole body was being transformed into lead. Her skin turned cold. "Do I need to change?"

"No." Concordia shook her head. "You are perfect the way you are."

Touko got out of bed, the blankets winding themselves around her waist like the sea, tides of cotton and silk parting as she planted both feet on the floor. Concordia had a pair of white slippers which were velvety and smooth and deliciously soft against the soles of her feet. As she slipped into them, Concordia placed a hand over her eyes and instructed her to close them. She did.

"Are they closed?"

"Yes." Ice in her veins.

There was a sound like the air ripping into pieces, the sensation of wading through water that was cold and warm, and then-

[/ / /]

-she emerged, disoriented, into a landscape full of flowers and greenery. Plant life hummed with their own energy all around her, living things that stretched their vines towards the sun in eternal supplication. She could smell soil, honey, and the natural scent of roses and gracideas and dahlias and sunflowers, all merging into a natural earthy perfume. Above was a glass dome through which light filtered, illuminating the flowering buds and those that had already bloomed, giving life and nourishment to the sun-starved flowers. A network of brick-paved pathways wound through the garden, interspersed with occasional lamps that looked more like they belonged in a lab than a greenhouse. Cherry trees and apple trees towered over the flowerbeds in the distance, with a few rowans and elms close behind them, and she realized that the greenhouse (which this was) was larger than she prevously imagined. While she took in the sights, however, her nose wrinkled; cloying and somehow bitter, the aroma of roses overwhelmed everything else, and as she looked around, Concordia removing her palm from her eyes, she could see why.

Roses were everywhere, all speckled in various shades of bright, blinding colors. White roses, red roses, even blue, violet, and orange roses that must have been the work of some artificial genetic engineering; those colors were unnatural abberations, deviants on what should have been a solid palette of crimson.

Her eyes wandered over to a patch of them contained within a circle of regular red blooms. There was a bench situated next to the bed, and she sat down on it, the marble cold under her legs. She tucked the hem of her gown underneath them and looked at the roses. White ones and black ones dominated the center, and she saw that they had been artistically planted (or arranged, for that matter) to resemble the two dragons, Zekrom and Reshiram. Zekrom was made of black roses, while Reshiram consisted solely of white. An invisible breeze stirred through the petals, carrying their fragrance up and into her area of smell. It was too sweet, too artificially enhanced until she could almost taste the sugar on her tongue. Disgusted, she turned away, away from the too-pretty roses that were sharp, almost, angular in a way that made their lovely petals look like tiny blades.

"Touko?"

His voice, melodic and ringing, carried out over the greenhouse and to her ears. She swiveled around, not quickly but lazily, as if she had the world in her hands. Her gown scraped against her legs, chafing them.

There he was, standing like some sort of horribly beautiful angel in heaven's holy garden, framed almost perfectly by two tall cherry trees with their pink blossoms cascading in a light rain onto the winding brick trails. His jade hair with all its curls and messiness was tied back again, his black-and-white cap held in one hand. He wore only a thin white shirt unbuttoned near the collar, showing the hard ridges of his collarbone, and surprisingly, a toned chest hard with wiry muscle. The Menger sponge, his trademark toy accessory, still hung from his belt, suspended above brown slacks. She noticed that he was barefoot, petals falling onto his toes and around his feet like raindrops.

This boy. He was statuesque, every plane and ridge of his skin painfully apparent. He looked thinner, the softness his face previously held now something more angular, sharper, and feral. His eyes, green and gem-like, shone. He looked absolutely radiant.

This boy. He of the Harmonia name, he who championed truth and was of the White Dragon, directly in opposition to her.

This boy. So cherubic in every way, but his beauty was a cold, dead thing. Like the roses that bloomed in his garden; so full of life, so pretty, but artificial. Fakes.

He was as gorgeous as a marble sculpture and held all of its warmth. When he held out a held, his fingers looked like polished, gleaming white stone. Like diamond, shining in the sunlight.

"Touko," he repeated, hand outstretched in an obvious gesture of greeting and beckoning. He wore, she noticed, a slim band of silver around his index finger, topped with a tiny shard of jade. From her vantage point, its shape was not clear, but she suspected it to be draconic in form. N wore a sheepish sort of smile on his face that was mostly sad, but also looking embarrassed at the same time. And yet, there was his typical N-esque haughtiness lurking behind it all, underneath the glacial features of his countenance. Bianca once told her that these types of smiles were reserved for happy-go-lucky boyfriends who had just been caught with their hands in the cookie jar-or, more literally, up some other girl's shirt. It was a heartless smile, she thought. A smile bereft of warmth and emanating only coldness, a smile fitting for winter. She shivered.

His hand was still raised, calling her forward. The green stone flashed. Unwillingly, she found her feet forced towards him, taking slow, anxious steps across the brick floor until she was flush with his chest and his arms were wrapped around her. As he pulled her close, she caught a hint of his own scent-green tea, mint, and something else that was herbal-and felt her insides contract, her saliva souring. His arms were hard, sturdy, like pieces of metal fashioned for a robot, and this was what she felt as he hugged her-like she was being embraced by a machine, all wires and steel plating and prettiness but no heat, no passion. Her cheek brushed against the crook of his neck-oh, he was as tall as a giant-and she jerked away. His skin was icy.

"I'm so glad that you came here," he whispered into her ear, his lips inches away. As if the thought had spurred him on, he planted butterfly kisses all along her neck, his hands around her waist and back and so _frosty_. Chills blossomed where his lips met her skin, and she shuddered again, involuntarily.

"You're so thin," N murmured, slender fingers caressing her cheekbones, skimming along her jawline. His touch was on her, everywhere at once, like a swarm of Beautifly with their papery wings fluttering against her flesh. He looked concerned as, with his thumb, he gently traced the dark circles under her eyes. "Have you been eating well? You've lost so much weight."

"I eat enough," she replied, not trusting herself to say anything more. She tucked her arms against her sides as he continued this strange examination of fingers and skin-_her _skin-his touch as delicate as a gentle zephyr.

"Do you? Anthea says that you've been neglecting your nutritional intake. That you've been avoiding food." He looked her in the eye, his emerald irises clear and cutting. "Are you starving yourself, Touko?"

"No."

"Please," he said, giving her a sad little grin. "I only want the best for you. I want you to live, Touko, not to die." He wound strands of her hair around his fingers absently, and she tried to keep herself from recoiling. "You're so beautiful, you know. You shouldn't try to harm your body in this way."

"I'm not." Her voice was becoming hoarse, her emotional net unraveling.

Distantly, she thought, _Blue_.

"You don't have to lie." He cupped her chin and tilted her head up to face him. "I can see it, Touko. You are so...wounded."

His eyes were like oceans of green. Bottomless. Infinite.

_There is nothing more purely terrifying than innocence._

The eyes of something divine, something greater. With their faces so close together, she saw that the irises, once only jade in color, were flecked with spots of crystalline blue. The blue was the washed-out color of alcoholics, but yet, it held an ethereal quality to it. Something powerful, but faint. Something beautiful.

_Every light, no matter how bright, casts an equally dark shadow._

"I want to help you, Touko. Make things right for you to the best of my abilities." He held her hands, lifting them up and cradling them in his palms like they were something precious. "Even though you may never be able to leave this castle, I want to make it a home for you. An oasis." His lips hovered near her own; however, she couldn't find it within herself to pull away. His eyes were magnetic, sucking her in.

"I want this castle to be your Eden."

Barely, imperceptibly, their mouths made contact. She felt ice spreading from the touch, her lips turning to snow. And then, just as suddenly, it was gone. N drew away, smiling the same boyfriend-caught-red-handed smile. He grasped her wrist.

"Come," he said. "I've got something prepared for us."

She turned to Concordia, who gave her a nod. N tugged at her hand, and, knowing resistance was futile, she followed after him as he led her through the gardens.

Touko saw more of it as they walked, arm-in-arm. Hanging trellises draped with white orchids and tulips and even bluebells were laid against smooth brick walls placed there for the express purpose of supporting the wooden structures and their flowers. She saw dahlias the color of burnished sunsets and fresh blood, jasmine that was as white as snow, violets that were a lustrous dark blue, daisies that looked like miniature suns with flares of orange emanating from their centers, and huge growths of mint, basil, and thyme, all of them pungently spicy and sweet. Tulips in bloom with their wide array of colors, from rosy pinks and oranges to exotic blues and purples, the latter two shades being artificially engineered to achieve their odd coloration. Cherry and apple trees, strong trunks holding up cloud-like blossoms and, in some cases, ripening fruit. Touko turned away from the sight of the reddening apples, her stomach churning.

And the roses. They were everywhere, as thick and spread out as the air itself. White, black, red, blue, pink. A veritable palette of flowers, all of them like sunbursts in their close clusters. Roses were arranged everywhere, from simple circular patches to more elaborate, winding patterns fashioned after abstract depictions of the sun and stars. Baskets of them dangled in some places, packed into spheres and made to look like the planets and constellations. They passed through a tunnel laden with black blooms, and Touko felt as if she were being swallowed by the night, by the fathomless depths of space. Little sunlight passed through the tightly packed flora, and the bricks they walked on were dark. If N was fazed, he didn't show it. He didn't even seem to care, and why should he? This was _his_ garden, after all; she was merely a guest, a foreigner to this carefully preserved world of flowers and plant life with their roots reaching for water and their petals reaching for the sky.

Stopping, he reached up and took hold of one of the roses, tearing it away from the rest gently and placing it in her hair. It smelled like burnt sugar, like soil and sweetness mixed into one. Like rotting fruit.

"For you," he said, his deft fingers weaving it into the brown strands like a skilled seamstress. "As dark as Zekrom, and as lovely."

Sad smile. She frowned.

Inside, the strands unraveled further at this unexpected gesture of love, reconciliation, and maybe even gloating. As dark as Zekrom, it was true. Her dragon. Its champion.

Now, a fallen hero.

_for you, my dearest_

She bit her lip until she was sure blood would come out. As soon as the rose was set in place, he gave her an appraising look and then led on, the tunnel vanishing behind them into the warm golden glow of the setting sun.

The two of them finally reached their destination-N's destination. As they rounded a curve and descended down a series of stone steps, she saw a small alcove, next to which a small, man-made pond burbled and sent lily pads scattering across its placid surface. There was a small table, set with a cloth and a vase bearing a single, white rose. The sight of it made her want to gag, its saccharine smell overwhelmingly strong even from where she stood, like a noxious perfume.

Three red candles had been lit and placed in an elegant silver holder fashioned into the shape of a Hydreigon, with each head swallowing a candle and keeping it in place. An aroma of cherrywood drifted from the flames, coupled with the scent of peaches and vanilla. What looked like a small picnic had been laid out, with two glass goblets filled with sparkling water on the side. Napkins and silverware were also prepared and folded, bound by thin ribbons of cloth.

It was such a pristine, ideal scene. Not a wrinkle in sight. It was so perfect that it made her eyes water and her grip on N's hand tighten.

He smiled. "For you. Dinner." He stepped down to the bottom and motioned for her to come after him. "Join me, please."

When she hesitated, he said, "It's all for you. Please, have a seat."

Her legs moved like leaden weights as she stepped down the stairs, her hands lifting up the hem of her gown so as not to trip and take a tumble. Nearing the table, she found N pulling up a chair for her. She gave him a nod and a whispered, "Thank you," before sitting down, running her fingers over the curving metal armrests.

She stared at the food like she wasn't sure what to do with it. Several plates, each lavishly cooked and decorated, sat before her, gleaming in the warm rays of the sun and the illumination of the candles. Delectable aromas wafted through the air, but she didn't feel like eating any of this. Not a bit. Her fingers gripped the tablecloth, her stomach protesting at the sheer quantity of the dishes presented before her.

N noticed her discomfort and placed a hand over her own fidgeting one, his hold firm. "Touko," he murmured, "I assure you that there's nothing wrong with the food here. Try it. It's delicious-at least, in my opinion. But I think you'll like it, too."

She still made no move to reach out for her fork or spoon. Nonplussed, he continued, "I know that things have been...hard for you lately. And I know that it's been mostly my fault for all of these occurrences. I know that you don't like me right now, that you probably even hate me and can't stand my hospitality. But," he intoned, taking his fork and skewering a slice of melon, then sliding it onto her plate, "I want us to get to know each other better. To bond. I want to try and cross this chasm that's in between us and...make you feel better."

As stoic as ever, she did not react, not even at these words which sounded so sincere. She didn't trust them, nor did she trust him fully.

He sighed. "I think you know how I feel about you by now. How I still do." His eyes, gleaming brightly, traveled upwards, locking onto her own and pulling her in with a powerful gravity. "I think, I will forever think, that you are the most beautiful girl I have ever had the privilege to see. I love you, even though you despise me for the things that I've done. And you might despise me more for the changes I will enact. What I do, though, I do with you in mind. I care for you."

In her mind, the part of her that still harbored some affection for him, the part that was willing to forgive, shouted, _He's telling the truth! He loves you, he truly does. Can't you see that?_

_No_, the rest of her thought. _I can only see the blue in his eyes, shining like the sea._

And yet, she wondered.

"This meal is for you," he went on. "This garden can be yours. This castle can be yours as well, if you wish. And perhaps, in time, the region. Once things are settled, you understand." The goblets sparkled as he pressed closer, his hands cool against her skin, his green hair cascading over his shoulders, his pretty face so damn _near_. "I want to give you a world. Not just that, but worlds. Planets."

His mouth quirked into a slight smile, this one different from the one before in that it was only sad, a silent plea to her. "Won't you give me a chance?"

His eyes pulled her in and left her hanging on the edge of a cliff, drawing her irrevocably into a vortex from which she could not escape. His irises looked like minuscule earths, she realized, with green and blue juxtaposed onto a single circular canvas.

"You've hurt me," she finally choked out, and N's expression fell a little. He was undeterred, however, as she said, "You've locked me in this castle, made me your prisoner, but...you've shown me kindness, too." Bitterly, she spat, "I suppose I owe you a debt, now, do I? Bringing me back to life, only to keep me in this cage...am I only some plaything? A number in your grand equation?"

"No," he breathed, running a finger along the lines of her face. "No, you're much too precious for that."

"Why?"

"Because," he explained, as if it was as simple as that, "I love you. And I hope, that in time, I'll be able to make up to you what I took."

_Never_. But she didn't say it out loud.

"Now, please. You must eat."

He stared at her placidly, that half-smile still on his face. She was stunned. How did he maneuver their conversation back to _this_? There was a new part to this N, she decided. A smooth, silvertongued N. An angelic N, who possessed all the beauty of a god and lacked all the emotion. His quirks, his touches all felt..._wrong_, somehow. He seemed like such a changed person since the last time they had met, an N who's dependence on numbers to make sense of the real world seemed to have engulfed him in their own separate universe. When he spoke, he sounded out of it a little, a bit dream-like.

_But if you think he is not sorry, you are wrong_

She wanted to believe in Anthea's words. She wanted to believe, for the sake of her former friendship with N, which had now degenerated into _this_. She wanted to believe so desperately. But try as she would, she could not find it in her heart to trust him. Touko's heart felt dead.

Mechanically, she lifted her fork and stabbed into her melon slice, pushing it into her mouth and chewing without tasting. There were slices of melon in colors ranging from red to purple to blue, swirled mounds of lettuce and carrot shaved thin and drizzled with some acidic dressing, mushrooms fried and drenched in a rich wine sauce, and broth with tofu, ginger, and onion. A cake with fluffy vanilla frosting and strawberries. Grapes and blue cheese. Cold, multicolored noodles with a tangy red sauce. Last, but not least, a dish of sweet white ice cream dotted with blue sprinkles.

"Delicious, isn't it?" N asked, devouring a mushroom.

She made no comment.

They ate in relative silence, their chewing the only accompaniment. Concordia stood some feet away, as still as a statue, her blonde tresses tied into a braid and her features expressionless. Touko bit into melon, salads, mushrooms, pastries, cheeses, and noodles and sauces, eating but not enjoying. Her fork moved up and down like a mechanical crane, shoveling food without a moment of savoring.

Her spoon slipped and a bit of sauce fell from her lips onto her chin. Chilies and peppers mixed into paste clung there like a drop of blood. Without warning, N stood up from his chair and wiped the sauce away from her mouth, dabbing at the spot with his own napkin. His arms stretched behind her back, his face close once again. She froze at his touch like a Deerling in the headlights, her spoon clattering onto her plate and barely avoiding splashing into her soup bowl.

"There," he whispered, his voice husky and not at all how she remembered it. A shiver went through her spine as his lips skimmed her collarbone, his green mane tickling her cheek.

"The ice cream," N murmured. "It's the same kind they use to make Casteliacones. You said, on the Ferris wheel, that you'd never had a chance to try one and that you wished you could have just a taste."

His hand lifted a spoon with leonine grace and dipped it into the silver tub, scooping out a small portion and offering it to her.

"Open wide," he said huskily. Her eyes widened at his tone, but she did so, knowing there was nothing else to be done for it. He slipped the spoon into her mouth, and cold sweetness burst on her tongue. The ice cream was thick, creamy, and sugary. As he withdrew the spoon, the sprinkles crunched and were crushed by her teeth.

"Good?" he inquired. She gave a small nod of her head.

He dipped the spoon in again, scooping out another morsel. "Have some more."

N fed her, and Touko swallowed. White ice cream melted in her mouth, leaving a faint stickiness and a powerful sweetness that was even stronger than the smell of the roses. N's eyes flashed every time she accepted his offerings, and she found there was something darkly erotic about the entire setup. Perhaps, in another time, she would have felt more aroused by this-N slipping ice cream through her lips. But now, she felt only a numbness and a tiny, wriggling sense of fear.

The spoon shone as he removed it from her tongue, scraping off the last of the ice cream on her bottom lip. She licked it off, and there was a quick flash of _something_. It was gone just as quickly, leaving Touko wondering if she'd imagined it.

"Are you finished?" Concordia asked, striding over to their table.

He gave a nod. "Please clear away the dishes, if you would."

The blonde woman gave a nod in return, getting to work piling up all the dirty plates and blowing out the candles. Touko wondered how she was going to get them all back to the kitchen or wherever they came from, but saw, to her surprise, a small Gothorita standing in the shadows, aglow with a faint telekinetic aura. As Concordia cleared away the table, the Gothorita whisked the dishes away, floating along with them in order to maintain its psychic hold.

"Walk with me," N commanded, getting up and holding out his hand. Touko took it, feeling the indentation of his ring as he grasped her fingers in his own. Now that she could look at it clearly, she saw it was not a dragon, but an ouroboros. A serpent swallowing its own tail, and a symbol of the end of the world.

Green and silver, inlaid and wrapped around in a circle. Death and rebirth.

Leaving the table behind as if it had never existed, they resumed their walk, only now, it became more of a meander through the greenhouse. Night had begun to set in, tinting the orange and pink sky a deep, burnished violet that was slowly but surely swallowing what light remained. Touko was surprised that they had been out so long-or so late, for that matter.

N began speaking, almost in an absent manner, like she wasn't there at all. He was a fan of monologuing, if there had ever been one. She listened somewhat attentively, the thick smells of the garden clouding her senses and filling her with a lethargic sleepiness.

"Man and Pokemon have existed together for aeons," said N, his collar gently fluttering like a piece of paper. "An age-old, unspoken covenant between man and beast that came about since the first life forms roamed the earth. You were right, you know, about the bond between the two groups. There is one, that I can say. A bond of unspoken connections, a bond nearly as powerful as life and death."

She glanced at him, surprised that N, of all people, was acknowledging and conceding to her words.

"For millennia, planet Earth has thrived, and those who live on it with the planet itself. Life evolves, becoming more complex. People and Pokemon evolved with them. Pokemon developed their powers even further, becoming creatures of formidable renown and incredible potential, while we, as humans, grew hungry with a desire to create and consume. Our minds spurred, we set to work orchestrating the construction of cities, of empires, of tools for waging war with each other. And through it all, Pokemon still stood by our sides, devoted friends to the bitter end. We made machines and buildings and temples; they fought and utilized our advancements in a way no other species could.

"In this way, I suppose, our races were intertwined. At least, in those early eras of human and Pokemon cooperation. The bond came about as a necessity; in this strange new world, the continents were unexplored frontiers awaiting development, and both parties forged ahead and swam through unknown waters to birth civilizations.

"However, evolution has taken its course. Man and Pokemon still hold that vital bond, but it is fraying. Weakening and tearing, drawing closer to destruction because humankind is too blind to see its flaws." N gave her a hard look. "I believe that man is a cancer, Touko. A cancer. Can you believe it? I am comparing our race to a disease, a terrible malady. But it is true. Cancer cells start as beneficial growths which quickly spiral into a monstrous mass that slowly drains the life from its recipient. Humans are doing that to this planet and to the Pokemon which inhabit it."

"A cancer?" she blurted out, the numbness fading and replaced by a sudden spark of anger. "How can you say that? If that's so, then you, as a human, should be able to acknowledge the fact that you are just as much a part of the planet's destruction!"

"I never said that I was not," N replied coolly, not angered by her outburst at all. "Indeed, I consider myself a cancerous cell as well. Or, I did. You see, cancer can be treated. It can be removed from the body, and then the body can recover and be restored to full health."

She stared at him blankly, waiting for an explanation. He grinned at her, his face devoid of light.

"Do you realize what I'm talking about? It's what I've been trying to get you to understand all this time-that Pokemon are abused by humans, and it is our job to end this cruelty. When we acknowledge the darkness in our hearts, we a step closer to obliterating it, and our negative impact, from the world. It is how we will rid ourselves of our selfishly-fueled, greed-driven cancers and right the planet."

"What are you talking about?"

He gave a heavy sigh, then launched himself back into his talk. "At some point in Earth's once pristine history, we abandoned the relationship we once held with our Pokemon. We started treating them less like friends, less like equals as ordained by Arceus, but as weapons. Tools. Objects of war. Instruments of destruction. As humanity evolved and civilization developed, we left these treasured bonds behind. Here is where we diverged, where history became flawed."

She began to understand, but only a fraction of what he was saying seemed sane. The rest...N was impassioned about his dream, but now she began to see what he really thought.

"We used them in countless battles, in wars that would decide the fates of clans now expanded into powerful kingdoms. We treated them carelessly, but still held a place for them in our hearts. We were not as degenerate and reprobate in our actions as we are now. No, we feared them, we worshipped them, we treated them almost as gods. And there were-_are_-still gods among us." His smile was as cold as winter. "No, we have only forgotten that they exist, or we have chosen to ignore them because we are too primitive to accept them. We remember the days of fire and lightning and worlds ripped free from time and space, but we choose not to believe. Because we are _stupid_ and _filthy _and _ignorant _beings who defy convention. Because we have grown too prideful to believe in giants and of shadows underneath our beds. Because we fancy ourselves adults of the modern age, and not children cowering in bedsheets as we really are."

She felt a horrible shock at the rage of which he spoke about humans, wanting to shout, _This is your own SPECIES, dammit! _But to think that he held such a degree of revulsion for people...it was terrifying, his passion.

_nothing as purely terrifying as innocence_

Was this innocence? The way in which he perceived in world in such stark colors, never seeing shades of gray but only black and white? Was this the way his mind functioned on numbers alone, the way he would do anything to achieve his goals? She was scared of it, scared of the way his hand held her fingers so tightly like a vise, scared of the way his eyes darkened, the blue flecks standing out clearer than ever before.

"N," she gasped, "this...why do you hate so much?"

"Hate?" he asked, as if it were a particularly amusing word. "Yes, perhaps what I feel might be perceived by hate by people like you, Touko." She felt stung, as if he had slapped her. "But I can see what man has grown too blind to see, what we have become enshrined and indoctrinated in. Brutality. Violence. War. We are a society that has not really evolved at all, you see, because still, in times of relative peace, we pit Pokemon against each other. We enslave them in little plastic orbs and have them fight at our leisure." He shook his head, smiling that awful smile. "The League is nothing more than a glorified pageant of destruction. Self-destruction. Do you realize that we hold these marvelous beings down, tethering them to the earth when they were made to fly, to soar? And in the process, we hinder ourselves as well. We are a primordial race lying in our own shit, and nobody even cares."

"N..."

"Instruments of war, Touko. That is what we have corrupted Pokemon into becoming. Our friends, now perversions of their formers selves, made to fight in our name and for our glory. It sickens me."

"It's to strengthen the bonds between Trainers and their Pokemon-"

"Please." He let out a dry, joyless laugh. "A lie, perpetrated by those who wish to keep the system. They have lived in it for far too long to accept change. They believe that, should a single variable be introduced into their seemingly perfect world, everything will fall apart."

His grip was painful. She let out a sharp gasp, straining to free herself. He seemed to take no notice of her, but loosened his grip enough for her to feel comfort. Drawing in a breath, she stared at him and his angelic features, his skin as hard as stone.

_Who are you? _she wanted to ask.

"But they are wrong. They fear the light. They fear the illumination it will cast upon all their sordid activities. They fear having their sins brought into focus. Alas, they cannot stop what has been started."

She looked into his gaze, depthless and as deep as oceans. He returned the look, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"N, what do you mean?" she questioned, feeling a sudden sinking sensation in her gut. "What are you saying?"

"Armageddon," he answered, his voice rapturous. "The beginning of an end in order to bring about a new start. A clean slate. What has been done can be corrected. We can rid this world of mankind's cancer and take the region into a new age. An age of the gods' design."

"What you're suggesting is...is insanity," she said, her legs starting to buckle under her. Now, it dawned on her how large his plan was, how far it stretched. The updates Concordia had been giving her finally merged into the completed puzzle. She saw what he was thinking of, and it filled her with a sense of dread, of fear.

"Pokemon shall be used as instruments of destruction for a final purpose. A cleansing purpose. I will tear down the League and move mountains to reshape the world in a newer, purer image. The dark will be extinguished. Light will prevail." He closed his eyes and inhaled. "What I am suggesting, Touko, will be the apocalypse for many. You included, I suppose. Every institution of Pokemon suffering, I will destroy it all. I will raze cities, if need be, to cleanse them. To purify."

"No..." Touko choked out in horror.

"Yes," N whispered. "Reshiram is by my side. I can do anything. You are letting the system cloud your mind, letting it infect you and spread the cancer further. I will show you the world and its ugliness, at the darkness within."

"You can't do this." She was close to tears now, her heart being torn with every word he uttered. She crumpled, falling to her knees and raising her head to look up at him. "You can't. This is...this is beyond your reach. You can't be a god, N."

"That is another thing I never professed to become," he told her, and she saw that night had fallen at last. Moonlight framed his face in a bright halo that was an inversion from the one she had seen before, all sun and radiance. This one was impossibly sinister, impossibly glacial and cold.

"You're not a god!" she cried. "Only a demon."

"You can call me a demon, but you do not yet see. I will give you a glimpse of the darkness, of the night. You will look into the abyss and you will loathe it more than you loathe me."

"Murderer," she sobbed. "You killed my starter. You killed it, you bastard, and you don't even feel sorry! You're a hypocrite and a tyrant!"

"An accident," he replied. "A tragic one. But such is the terrible nature of war. There is nothing I can do but apologize, Touko."

"Bastard," she croaked weekly, her legs splayed on the floor and her gown puddling all around her.

"In time, you will see what I do," said N, his voice sounding very faint. She was slipping, she could feel it. Slipping into the darkness, as he had said. Before she fell completely, she heard him say, "There has always been destruction before rebirth, war before peace. I am bringing this cycle to a close, Touko. And when it does end, you will be by my side, my queen, and you will see the light. The system is ending, swallowing its own tail because it has nothing else to consume. You will see, Touko. All in good time."

[. . .]

_A woman of dreams and dreaming  
Clouds of ebullient pink turned dark with rot_

Mistralton City woke slowly, the first rays of sunlight illuminating sleepy faces and tired eyes just crawling out from under snug woolen blankets or in cramped couch-bent positions. The crisp smell of dew and blooming flowers mixed with an underlying scent of soil and rot from the greenhouses, the fragrances carrying over every house or apartment nestled within Mistralton's borders. Faint but growing in intensity was the powerful odor of gasoline as early-morning airplanes fueled up and readied for a day of carrying vegetables or passengers.

At approximately 6:20 AM, the pre-set alarm app on Lillian Fennel's Pokedex 3.0 beeped raucously, startling the Professor awake from an otherwise peaceful sleep. Beads of cold sweat condensed on her forehead like pearls arranged in some sort of odorous headpiece. Fennel promptly pressed down on the alarm, stopping its keening wake-up call instantly, while pondering the fact that she had woken up at 6:30 AM; Fennel was a woman of jagged risings, and waking at such a rounded time was an unusual occurrence for her. A faint chemical smell hung in the air and lingered in her mouth. Taking a drink from the glass of lukewarm water on her nightstand to remove the taste, she sat in bed for a few more moments before heading into the bathroom.

At approximately 6:49 AM, Lillian Fennel finished her shower, brushed her teeth, rinsed, at stared at her reflection in the foggy mirror.

Fennel was, by nature, an adaptable person. It came as a result of her profession, she supposed. Some liked to believe that science was a study that was set in stone, with theorems and formulas and suggested postulates that hardened to diamond-solid theories and were forever entrenched in books and documents, and to even _challenge_ them was blasphemy against science itself.

However, science was generally quite the opposite. As time progressed and new technology developed, new theories irrevocably came about that sometimes shook the foundations of the scientific community, drawing forth a slew of questioning and redefining of traditional, venerated theories. The newer ones were, more often than not, found to be more believable and valid, soon assimilated into an ever-growing mass of deductions, inferences, and ideas. And science was like a rubber band, expanding and contracting as needed to house it all.

Her particular branch of study had forced her to become even more adaptable than what regular science entailed. Dreams, the study of the subconscious... they were concepts that were barely touched upon, many abandoning it in favor of more logical areas like particle physics or Pokemon biology and ancestry. Even her closest friend Professor Juniper had had her doubts at the start of her venture.

"It's a tricky area, Lil," she had said. "Dream research definitely sounds like a rewarding pursuit, but the dreams of Pokemon are things we can't even begin to fathom, let alone comprehend."

She _wanted _to be able to fathom, though. So she had done just that, beginning an academic journey that would take her over the course of six years before she was able to substantiate her theories and develop machines and technology for the express purpose of delving into dreams, into the brain's inner recesses, and projecting colored, erratic images for the whole world to see; images that would prove the validity of her research, of the constant fluctuations in her notes and in her subjects. Because researching something as esoteric as Pokemon dreaming required an adaptable mind, and Fennel learned to become adaptable. In science, adaptability was a desired trait.

Just how adaptable had she become? She had already forged a new ID for herself, complete with a picture of her current appearance. She had erased any links connecting her prior identity to her new one, making sure to cover all her tracks. She had surgically modified her face and body to escape detection; her transformation was such that even her assistant, Amanita, had trouble recognizing her. Even her voice had been changed from the previously high, almost demure tones it once held to deeper, lilted sounds.

She was so adaptable that she had taken the former Lillian Fennel, replete with an adorable flower-shaped hair accessory, sterile lab coat, flowing black hair, and shy demeanor, and metamorphosed her into an utterly unique individual devoid of correlations to her past self. The new Lillian Fennel-or, as it said on her ID, "Ariel Niina"-was a willowy brunette with long legs no longer covered in big skirts, thick, platform-soled heels that gave her at least four inches on her height, shoulder-length hair, green eyes, and a confident air that differed entirely from her quieter, klutzy other-the old Lillian Fennel.

Fennel was impressed with Ariel Niina's personality. Charming, slightly flirtatious, calm and cool... Ariel Niina gave her a chance at evading the grunts that had been doggedly following her for the past week or so, ever since she fled Striaton City at the behest of Juniper and Amanita. Out of the three of them, it had been decided that Fennel should be the one to leave, to flee the region. Juniper's face, being that of a renowned Pokemon Professor, was too easily recognizable, even with contouring and makeup (surgery could only go _so _far). And Amanita, despite her achievements, was young. Too young. Scared.

That left only Lillian Fennel to step up to the plate and make a run for it. Of course, she had protested vehemently with their decision, saying that _she_ was scared too, and how did they expect _her _to go through with this? The grunts had become far more hostile, abandoning the ploy of being benevolent, albeit stoic individuals with a profound pacifistic interest in the wellfare of abused Pokemon and revealing the monster that had, for some time, lurked underneath. Just weeks ago Nimbasa had been taken and the city was put under heavy lock and key. There was already a campaign to march on Driftveil, and even Castelia was falling quickly, despite the resistance put forth by some of the more stubborn residents. Fennel was a quiet person who would much rather stay in the backdrop rather than jump into the spotlight-especially not a spotlight as dangerous as _this _one would be, where the attention of the Plasma organization would be trained on her every move.

"You have to do this, Lil," Juniper had told her, grabbing her and shaking her vigorously to emphasize her point. Her colleague-no, her _friend's _eyes had been wild and rimmed with dark shadows, and Fennel realized just how much weight was on Juniper's shoulders at the moment. Shocked, she had stared at Juniper until the brunette sighed and apologized.

"Fennel, Team Plasma has evolved far beyond what we first predicted," Juniper continued. "I've tried to contact Rowan in Sinnoh and Elm in Johto, and neither of them have answered. You know why? They've already begun to block transmissions from the inside out. They're filtering e-mails, telecommunications, everything, like this is some dystopian nightmare from hell." Her eyes went a shade darker. "Right now, Plasma still hasn't secured the entire region, meaning we have a chance. Mistralton is the only place where you can get region-to-region flights right now-all the other airports that let you do the same thing have been shut down-and you _need_ to board a plane and fly to Sinnoh. Professor Rown is an old acquaintance of mine. He and the International Police will be able to help us." Juniper's voice was plaintive. "Please, Fennel. I'm not asking you as a colleague or a fellow Professor, but as one of my oldest friends. You-_we_- have an opportunity, and it's slipping away _fast_. Fennel, we need you. Unova needs you. You have to get to Rowan and tell him. _Please_, Lillian."

Fennel was not a lionheart by any means. She was a rabbit-hearted girl, and this was so _terrifying_, and she considered telling Juniper off for putting such a _burden _on a friend.

But after a period of quiet contemplation in the secure confines of her paper-strewn lab, she began to rationalize the situation, began to find a spark of courage in her heart to undertake what Juniper wanted her to do. As a friend, she owed it to Juniper, because that was what friends did, right? She had no doubts that Juniper would have done the same if their roles were reversed.

And furthermore, her colleague had a point. Unova was locking down from the inside out. Team Plasma's grip was tightening around the region itself, shutting down cries for help as swiftly and surely as the drop of an executioner's blade. If she didn't act soon, then the opportunities for escape still available would soon be blocked off entirely when they marched on Mistralton and shut down all airport services leading to foreign regions.

So, at Juniper's behest, she tore away her previous life and all affiliations associated with it, willingly closing her lab in Striaton City and lying about relocating to busier, industrial Castelia instead. She left behind her precious Musharna, the only Pokemon had ever owned and wanted to own, because it was too much of a liability; plastic surgery wasn't completely flawless, and since they scanned for Pokemon at the regional terminals, if some grunt or attendant saw her face and her Musharna, he or she might put two and two together and have her incarcerated. Fennel shuddered and decided to think of what the other, more severe option might be.

Because, as of today, Lillian Fennel, alias Ariel Niina, was now a wanted fugitive.

[/ / /]

Fennel dressed quickly in a warm black coat, gray pants, and, for this occasion, a pair of smaller heels that still managed to give her a few meager inches on her height. All of the possessions she would be taking with her were snugly nestled inside two luggage carriers, each item impeccably tucked in or folded. She had only a single Pokemon with her, a Klink she had just barely managed to catch en route to Mistralton; given the analysis by her Pokedex, it was relatively weak-leveled and wouldn't be especially helpful in a battle, but it was a small protection nonetheless. A hidden pocket housed several of her most important research documents disguised as mere business paraphernalia. And in her purse were three vials of Dream Mist, an element that was, as of yet, unknown to man and therefore unregistered on any of the scanners they would undoubtedly have for her in the airport. They were harvested from her Musharna at the creature's consent shortly before she fled Striaton. Two of the three held amorphous clouds of what looked like pink smoke; the bright coloration indicated happier dreams, of course. The third vial contained a rather murky sphere of ink-black mist, a nightmare that had been extracted from Musharna. Fennel had discovered rather early on that the clouds had faintly electrical properties, and so could be suspended for extended durations of time via the use of electromagnets on opposite sides of the mist; the magnets generated a stable electrical field, or stasis, that effectively imprisoned the mist for as long as she wanted. The magnets did run on charges, however, so it was vital that she plug them into a charger after a while. If not, the stasis would dissipate, the mist would easily leak through, and then...well, it should be personally noted that the mist had rather adverse affects on the mental states of those who accidentally absorbed it through their pores.

Her research was one of the things she adamantly insisted on bringing, despite Juniper's protests. She had worked for _years_, toiling and struggling through countless all-nighters to prove her theories and validate the facts that she already knew to be true; she was less than inclined to have it all laid to waste when Team Plasma decided to burn down her lab. She could only take along a few of her papers; the rest would have to be left behind. But at least it would survive, in one form or the other. At least, until this entire situation was resolved.

Fennel surveyed the room, meticulously checking that she had not left behind anything that could be traced back to her. She wiped down the sink, the shower, and made her bed. With that done, she wheeled her luggage out of the door, into an elevator, and down to the hotel lobby, where she tossed her keys to the pretty young receptionist with a flourish, putting on her tinted sunglasses and leaving the hotel.

Outside, she walked all the way to the airport terminal, discreetly glancing behind her at times to watch for potential pursuers. Deep down, she wondered if being on the run had made her more than a little paranoid, but she rationalized her reasons for her uneasy sleep and her constant observations with the fact that there were people who wanted her locked up or _dead_. Those were, she supposed, valid reasons for her nervousness; she was _not _being paranoid, she was being _careful_.

Still, the feeling persisted. Stopping at a bus stop, Fennel slid inside the enclosed glass booth, feeling that despite the transparency of the panels, the booth would be able to afford her a modicum of privacy. She reached into her purse, rummaging around until she found a small white tablet nestled inside a plastic package. She tore open the package and put the pill in her mouth, cringing both at the taste and the guilt that went with it. Drugs were something that Fennel looked upon with apprehension, for she could never quite forget her wild pre-college days when an addiction cropped up and took over her life for the better part of a year. Yet, there was no other quick way to relieve the sensation of being watched, the constant disturbing prickle of invisible eyes scanning for her on the cluttered streets of whatever city she was in. Yes, she might be paranoid and lapsing back into her older, negative habits, but really, she still had a degree of control over her pill intake. She could control the urges; now, she took them not on an uncoordinated autopilot but with the careful measurements and precisions of a psychic who occasionally locked herself or himself in a room filled with nothing but the stinging smoke of incense-to clear her mind, to get rid of the negativity that seemed to pervade every aspect of her life now.

The pill dissolved on her tongue, the white particles melting into her saliva and being absorbed into her bloodstream. The relief it brought wasn't immediate, though she did notice a lessening of the pressure she felt. Her mind seemed to drift out of a paranoia-fueled haze, her thoughts becoming sharper and more rapid in generation. She felt energized, almost. With renewed vigor, she marched towards the terminal, her heels clicking on the pavement like gunshots.

Now that morning had arrived, the streets were a bustle of activity. Cars zipped through roads, businesses opened to greet the dawn, and commuters gathered in tight, business-suited congregations on the sidewalks. Some were accompanied by their Pokemon. She saw Lillipups, Swoobats, Solosii, Reuniclusii, and even a Sinnohvian Mime Jr. The sight of it reminded her what flight she was to go on. She was scheduled for the 10:00 flight, which would last approximately 48 hours until the plane landed in Sinnoh's Veilstone City.

Right. She just had to get through security and get on the plane. Then, she would be all set.

Mistralton Terminal was the biggest of the city's many airports, and served as the epicenter of all the cross-regional flights both in and out. It was a gleaming, steel-and-glass structure, a work of modern architecture that rather reflected in the holographic signboards posted around its perimeter and the electronic display glass that constantly shifted to show flight times and dates. Already, the terminal was packed with wealthy entrepreneurs, tech developers, and the like packed in winding lines trying to get to Hoenn or Kanto for a business meeting of sorts. As Fennel stepped through the sensor-activated doors, she examined the people assembled around her and deduced that there was no one she could see who seemed remotely suspicious. Although, that might have been the tranquilizing agent working its way through her system.

She dragged her bags behind her, getting into line behind an overweight man in a pinstriped suit. At his feet was a slim Gothorita that looked rather out of place beside its master. The Psychic glanced at her as though it was gazing into her soul, and Fennel felt an abrupt rush of tension course through her body. The tranquilizer could not fight it at all, this sudden irrational fear that threatened to lock her limbs firmly in place. Luckily, the Gothorita and its Trainer moved away, allowing the bizarre apprehension to fade away. However, she was deeply disturbed and quickly moved ahead.

"Miss, are you alright? You're badly shaking."

She turned around and met the eyes of a cute young man frowning at her worriedly through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. His concern seemed genuine, and she replied, "Yes. Just a bit of the cold got in, that's all."

He grinned. "I've only been in Mistralton for a few months, and already I'm hearing that spring is the coldest time to be around. Even colder than winter. Strange, isn't it?"

"Indeed," she said, feeling a bit more at ease. The small rapport they established had a placating effect on her nerves, even more so than the pill. The man was easy to talk to in between lulls, and besides, he had adorable blue Lillipup-eyes. Fennel couldn't resist. She was a sucker for cute guys.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Hoenn," she quickly lied, not wanting to disclose her true destination with even this handsome stranger. "I've got some extended family over there. And besides, it feels good to get away from all this cold."

"Hoenn, huh? Lots of tropical beaches and ocean resorts. You'll have a good time there."

"Really?"

"Yep," he said with a smile. "I've been there a couple of times before, and I have to tell you, it's the place to be. The economy is practically booming right now; lots of ways to strike it rich there."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He inclined his shoulder at the person in front of her. "Looks like it's almost your turn." He laughed. "Man, time flew by pretty fast, huh? I didn't even catch your name."

She debated telling him. Finally, she answered, "Niina. Ariel Niina." The name sounds false and plastic on her lips, but it will suffice.

"Thomas Rodgewell," he said, shaking her hand. "See you later, Ariel."

Involuntarily, a blush crossed her face as Thomas walked away. The woman she was behind purchased her ticket and then she was at the counter.

"10:00 AM flight, please. Direct route to Sinnoh."

The man at the counter hardly batted an eye as he examined her ID and took the new credit card issued to her by Juniper. She paid, took back her card and ID, then walked towards the checking area.

Her heart sank at the sight that greeted her. Long before the other regions were hit by terrorists groups and thus required to tighten their security measures, Unova had been the leading pioneer in anti-trafficking and transportation security, a fact that was painfully obvious judging by the sheer amount of metal detectors, drug-sniffing Herdiers, and stern-faced guards stationed all around.

Drugs. Fennel experienced a brief moment of all-consuming terror about the pills in her purse, when she recalled that she had only taken along a few of them with her. The one she had taken twenty minutes ago was her last one, she realized. As for the tranquilizer in her system, it traveled fast and lasted shortly. By now, it should be already fading as her body processed the last of the drug, and even if not, Herdiers couldn't sniff for drugs in the bloodstream.

Casually, she stepped up the checking station and did as the guards instructed. She first removed her coat, allowing it to be examined. Then, there was a full-body scan in which they waved beeping metal detectors over her figure to check for metal items on her person. Finding none, they asked her to put her luggage through the carrier scanners to check for suspicious items in those bags as well.

As she passed through the narrow aisles, she heard a beeping sound come from the carrier scanner next to her. Metal. They had found metal in her bags. Her mind rapidly flipped through everything she had put inside, coming to the realization that it must be the magnetized containers for her Dream Mist.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid_! she scolded, her pulse racing as the curious guards stepped over and retrieved her purse.

One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a goatee, reached inside and dug out one of the vials, the insides swirling with pink smoke. He glanced at her.

"What do you have here, miss?" he asked, his voice taking an accusing tone.

His partner sighed and said, "It's Dream Mist. The kind that's harvested from those Psychic-types, Munna and Musharna."

The goateed man typed something into a computer and shook his head. "It's not listed on the registry of allowed items. In fact, it's categorized as a potentially unstable element, authorized for use only in secure lab facilities."

Fennel gulped.

"Do you have any authorization recognizing your authority in the possession of this element?" Goatee dangled the vial above her before peering back into her purse and doing a double take. "Arceus! She's got two more of these, and one of them is-"

He frowned severely. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'll have to confiscate the items in your purse and take you in for questioning. Unless you have the proper authorization, possession of an unstable, unrecognized element is considered illegal. You'll be detained for a short period until this matter can be resolved."

She finally managed to blurt out, "They're quite stable, I assure you. The containers have electromagnets to keep the mist in stasis-"

"That doesn't matter. Do you have authorization or not?"

Because she knew that she didn't and lying would entrench her further in trouble, she answered, "No. I don't."

"You'll be coming with us then, unfortunately. Please hand over all items you have with you and follow me."

Goatee removed a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt and spoke into it while the drug-sniffing Herdier sniffing at her looked up and eyed her in suspicion. That damn dog looked like it knew something, and maybe it did. Pokemon were far more inquisitive than many people took them for, that was for sure.

Her unease tightened and coiled at the bottom of her stomach like a Seviper poised and ready to strike. The pill's effects had worn off completely, and the full weight of her stress slammed down on her like a Rhyperior doing a Body Slam. Her hands jerked involuntarily and of their own accord, and she gripped the hem of her shirt if only to stop them from shaking.

All around her, pedestrians on their way to their next flight gave her wondering glances, all mildly interested in the situation enfolding right at their center. Goatee finished speaking and clipped the walkie-talkie back on.

"Follow me, Miss...?"

"Niina."

Goatee smiled. It was an ugly smile reminiscent of a Sharpedo's grin just before it savaged a pack of Wailmer. "I think we both know, Miss Niina, that that isn't your real name."

Her breath hitched in her throat. She stared at goatee, wide-eyed, for what seemed like an eternity. Inside, her brain raced like mad, synpases firing and sparking multiple thoughts, each one as panicked and frenzied as the last.

"What do you mean?" she whispered, her voice shaky. "You can check my identification, I assure you that I don't know what you're-"

"Don't play games with us, _Professor_." Goatee's voice became positively menacing, his hand flashing out and latching onto her wrist before she could so much as run in the other direction. She let out a gasp of pain as his grip became vise-like. "We know exactly who you are. We've been tracking your intent with our Psychics for weeks, now. You're coming with us, Fennel."

Shit. Shit. Shit. They knew who she was, this security guard. His partner stepped forward to intercede, but before he could, his body froze and his eyes glazed over. His limbs twitched with jerky marionette movements, his head lolling back and then bobbing forward with an ominous recoil. As he toppled down, Fennel gave a shriek. The air behind him was vibrating minutely as the face of a leering phantom materialized out of thin air. Disembodied hands were tethered to a grinning, ghoulish head. It was a Haunter, tongue lolling out of its mouth and dripping with saliva. Paralyzing saliva. She looked down and saw that the guard's neck was wet. It must have used Lick.

Suddenly, as if some illusion was being ripped away to expose a harsher reality, she saw the people in the airport for who they were. The man working at the counter smiled and withdrew a Pokeball from under the desk. The woman who had been in front of her in line swiveled and called out a hissing Arbok, the massive purple serpent coiled around her legs and spitting venom. Goatee unbottened his shirt, and underneath it she could see the black-and-white insignia of Team Plasma emblazoned on a dark vest.

Worst of all, Thomas Rodgewell with the Lillipup eyes sneered and advanced towards her, those eyes now filled with something much more sinister. He took a Pokeball out from his pocket, the sphere enlarging as he tossed it into the air. A Gengar manifested, pitch-black and as mercurial as the shadows themselves. It showed a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth and cackled. Fennel felt her blood run cold at this sound.

Several bystanders stood, utterly flabbergasted, as the collective host of Rodgewell, goatee, the Arbok woman, and the man advanced. Rodgewell noticed them staring and, with a furious gesture, ordered, "Leave us! Now!"

Around them, the pedestrians screamed as Rodgewell's Gengar sent malevolent black orbs flying everywhere, loosing the buzzing Shadow Balls in every which way. They struck signboards, chairs, and windows, shattering all of them instantly. The woman's Arbok followed by launching sizzling jets of toxic liquid from its fanged mouth, the projectiles striking and covering entire surfaces with their corrosive venom. Metal and plastic sizzled and bubbled into deformed distortions as the venom settled. The attacks served as a clear warning for those not involved to back off, and it worked well. Everyone who was in the room fled immediately, roughly shoving through doors in their haste to get away.

Fennel squirmed, but she could not escape the man's grasp. Her fear mounted as Rodgewell approached, following by the woman with the Arbok and the man working behind the counter.

"It's interesting how events play out, Professor," Rodgewell said. "Lord Ghetsis said you would be here, and as expected, you have come."

She glowered. "What do you want?"

"Only for you to cooperate with us peacefully. This could go either ways: either you come quietly, or we will be required to use force in restraining you. I can't promise it won't be lethal, either." Rodgewell leaned in, his nose almost touching hers as he added, "You've given us enough trouble already, Miss Fennel. It would be preferable if you didn't resist."

Haunter and Gengar, both of which clearly belonged to Rodgewell, moved to flank the man, their teeth bared nastily. Goatee hung back, delegating superiority to Rodgewell-was that even his real name? However, that detracted nothing from his threatening presence. The Plasma insignia winked brightly as it caught a passing sunbeam. Fennel's stomach lurched.

She asked the question she had been meaning to ask. "How did you know?"

"Plastic surgery doesn't hide all," Rodgewell answered. "Your facial features, even under the modifications, were visible enough. And besides that, we've been tracking you for a while now. Since you left Striaton, in fact." His mouth twisted in a cruel sneer. "You thought you left undetected? Hardly. Team Plasma's network extends farther than you think."

His words jarred her, and she reflected on the many hotels she had stayed in, the people she had passed by on the street, the seemingly innocuous faces in a sea of the faceless. Any one of them could've been a grunt, secretly watching and spying, she realized with alarming clarity. _Any_ one of them.

"And your assistant Amanita was planning to send you your Pokemon for protection, wasn't she? But Professor, you aren't a battler." His eyes were intense. "You're merely a scholar, a scientist, not someone who's prepared to fight. It would be better if you just came along." His mouth was now set in a flat line. "You're obviously harboring a not-so-hidden intent to escape."

Fennel lashed out with her foot, trying to catch him by surprise. Just as her foot soared upward to make contact with his chin, it stopped. The Arbok woman's steely grip latched around her ankle and twisted it brutally. Fennel hissed in pain and stumbled, but goatee kept holding her firmly, not yielding a single inch.

"Our king would wish not to harm any more innocents in this operation," said Rodgewell, adjusting the rim of his glasses. "So, you have two options. You can come quietly, or you can resist. You have the freedom of choice, Professor Fennel. Choose the right one."

"Freedom of choice?" Fennel scoffed, glaring at him. "Bullshit. You can go screw yourself."

The words leaving her lips felt foreign, and she recalled those age-old rules instilled into every child, with _do not swear _being featured prominently among them. As she grew into an adult, that rule had stuck, and even now Fennel found herself using little profanity in comparison to several more vulgar friends she knew. It was just part of her personality, she assumed. Inwardly, she resisted the urge to clamp a hand over her mouth.

"That plane to Sinnoh leaves in one minute, and you won't be getting on it; of that, I can assure you," snarled Rodgewell. The eyes of Haunter and Gengar began glowing a faint blue, and Fennel felt a sudden sense of drowsiness overtaking her. Sleep swirled thick in her mind like cumulus clouds, as woozy as the Dream Mist and just as powerful. Her eyes struggled to stay open, and dimly she registered that there was some sort of telepathic interference occurring. The source was easy to identify: Rodgewell's Ghost-types.

Meanwhile, Rodgewell continued to speak, his voice sounding unnaturally quiet to her ears. "You will accompany us without disturbance or any interruption. All actions you perform will be solely the decision of Team Plasma, and..."

His words blended into an untillegible blur as a faint humming began in her head, furthering the somnolence coming down on her. She drifted in an out of consciousness as psychic commands were planted into her head; vacantly, as an afterthought, she recognized the technique as Hypnosis, and then her world began going black at the edges. Her periphery faded to tiny spots of white, then nothing, and now she was drifting away-

Scorching wind rushed past her as a brilliant white-hot Thunderbolt crashed into Haunter, blasting the ghost into wisps of phantom vapors. Stunned, the spirit struggled to reform even as another bolt flew forth and hit Gengar. The latter Pokemon was only rendered partially dispersed, but the attack still sent it careening horizontally and into the ground.

Now devoid of the ghosts' influence, Fennel's mind flew awake, the dream-like entanglements beginning to form amidst the cogs and gears of her brain disentangling and fading away. Rodgewell gave a gasp of surprise and turned, his cohorts copying his movements.

Amanita, wearing a torn white lab coat and accompanied by two hovering Beheeyem, stood at the now open doors. Wind gusted in, as brisk and cool as the wintry weather outside, but Amanita paid no heed to this. Instead, her eyes were fixated on Fennel, the alarm and urgency in her expression clear.

"What are you waiting for? Run, Professor! Run!" her assistant shouted, and as Fennel ripped her arm free of the dazed grunt's grasp, more hustling coils of electricity gathered in the arms of the bejeweled bipedal humanoids, slithering past each other in a distinctly serpentine manner. Humming tunelessly, the psychics unleashed their attacks simultaneously. The grunt who had handed her her ticket gave a low growl in the back of his throat and called out a Klang, the Steel-type materializing and mustering a protective barrier at its master's command. However, the order came too late and the bolts drove into the ground, flinging both trainer and Pokemon back and giving Fennel the opportunity she needed. Without a moment of hesitation, the Professor pulled her purse from Rodgewell's hand and ran towards the direction of the boarding gates.

"Stop her!" Rodgewell roared. His phantoms, now fully reformed, did as their master told them to. They dematerialized into dark shadows and sped after Fennel in hot pursuit.

"Psychic!" ordered Amanita, her coattails flapping in the breeze. The Beheeyem complied, extending their arms out and cloaking themselves in shimmering blue auras. They telekinetically ripped the ghosts from the ground and tossed them into the ceiling, where they reappeared and slammed into inches of sturdy, industrial-grade glass with a crack. The phantoms, now solidified, both groaned and dropped back onto the ground, dissolving back into black mist upon impact.

The Arbok woman shot her a seething, venomous look and told her Arbok to use Toxic. The serpent responded by shooting a hissing bolt of poison directly at her, which Fennel only managed to avoid by sheer luck. Panting, the Professor crouched low behind a metal bench, breathing heavily from just that simple exertion. She was concerned. Wasn't it against the rules to attack a Trainer directly during battle? Whatever these grunts were capable of, they definitely weren't playing by the rules, that was for sure.

She experienced a moment of shock as the bench she was hiding behind was ripped from the floor and thrown at the Arbok, along with a variety of objects located in the terminal. Trash bins, potted plants, and even abandoned luggage carriers were hurled at the snake by Beheeyem's telekinetic powers. Its Trainer pulled out another Pokeball and released a Seviper. The woman had an affinity for toxic snakes.

Darting quickly around the congregation of various elemental energies flying at each other, she slipped down a corridor and began making her way to her would-be designated gate. The lights overhead flickered, but she detected nothing ominous in this.

She heard footsteps behind her, and her fear magnified. The paranoia, the suspicion...it all threatened to overwhelm her. Arceus, this was getting so fucking out of control! Fennel longed for one of the pills, if only to take away the maddening sense of being watched for just a single damn second.

Crouching, she rounded a turn in the corridor and came across an empty waiting room. Plastic, artificially-colored chairs stood in disheveled rows, a sure sign that the previous occupants had also been frightened off by the sounds in the room adjacent or were just hiding. If so, they were doing a good job. Fennel could see no one besides herself there.

Carefully, she examined the perimeter, reaching into her purse and grabbing one of the flasks containing a sample of Musharna's Dream Mist. She chose the second pink vial, for obvious reasons: one, she could use it as a potential weapon in case any other grunt happened upon her, and two, she still had the duplicate flask with her. Her eyes wandered over upturned benches, suitcases and papers strewn about in haste, and a still-flickering television mounted in one corner.

Her eyes widened as she spotted two PC systems located on the opposite side of the room, each one painted a shiny chrome blue and powered on. Hurriedly, she ran over to one of the servers and tapped the screen. A keypad appeared on the screen below it, while a request for her to input her Trainer ID and password popped up on the screen above.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting the corect combination of numbers and letters. The PC gave a single chime to indicate that she had properly accessed it, and opened up to a display of all the Pokemon she had in storage. As suspected, there was only one, and that was her Musharna. She clicked on the pink sprite and opened up a side display showing her Pokemon's conditions in terms of health, moveset, and abilities. Everything seemed to be fine. She clicked on the 'Withdraw' option and waited for a response.

The PC beeped. A message scrolled across the screen, bearing stark letters in black and white. "Operation commenced," it read. "Initializing data upload...reverse-digitizing...5% complete...7%...9%..."

These must not have been updated in a while, because they were unbearably slow. Fennel clutched her flask of Dream Mist like it was an anchor; in a sense, it was. Having a piece of her research with her was a scrap of something from the past that helped hold her down and tether her firmly to the earth. In the room next door, she could still hear sounds of fighting and see bizarre flashes of light as some attack or the other streaked past or into its intended target. The dull humming of Amanita's Beheeyem and the hissing of the woman's Arbok and Seviper were audible even from where she stood.

Amanita. Even now, Fennel had trouble believing it. Amanita, her sweet-faced assistant and friend. Amanita, who, although she operated and was the primary innovator for the Unovan PC system, was unwilling to participate in even simple sparring matches for fear that she was inadequate at battling and would quickly lose. Amanita, who now wielded two powerful alien-like Beheeyem with all the ease and skill of a trained veteran. Just how much didn't she know about the people she thought she knew? Did Juniper harbor a hidden talent for the training circuit as well? Or her father, Cedric Juniper? Things were escalating so quickly and so drastically that Fennel wished for a moment that the world would just _stop _in its tracks and give her some time to think. Yes, she could handle change-it was a part of her, a vital characteristic-but she could not handle a gravitational shifting of all the things she once held truth in. She could _not_.

"20%...22%...23&..."

With each monotonous beep, the PC only seemed to get slower. Impatiently, Fennel waited, pacing back and forth as she waited to retrieve her Musharna. Only then would she have a substantial amount of protection, in spite of the fact that Musharna had rarely been used in a battle. Fennel's shoulders slumped. Rodgewell was right; she was a scholar, not a battler. Amanita was doing the fighting for her, and she couldn't lend a helping hand because she didn't have a Pokemon strong enough to do the job, and because of her own weakness.

A scream startled Fennel out of her self-misery. The Professor looked up, alarmed, as a thick black serpent went sailing through the entrance, crashing into the wall and falling in a messy heap. The female grunt's Seviper, she realized. Her head turned back to the entryway just as a bright flash of light lit up the entire corridor, and out sailed the Abork. Its sinuous body shuddered as stray currents of electricity exited it and dispersed into the ground below. The second snake slid next to its felled companion, both of them clearly knocked out of consciousness. Had Amanita really done this? Fennel felt woozy all of a sudden and clutched the PC for support as it spat out more numbers.

Amidst thick plumes of angry black smoke that streamed from the tunnel, Amanita emerged, looking not a bit worse for wear. Her Beheeyem trailed behind her, the Psychics commanding a definite air of power as their bulbous heads snapped back and forth in search of any more opponents.

"Amanita, what are you-?" she began, but was interrupted as her assistant ran face-first into her and wrapped both of her arms around Fennel's waist.

"Professor, I was so worried about you!" Amanita cried, her eyes wet. "I thought that you were being hunted, and it-it just wouldn't leave me alone, and Professor Juniper said I should go if I wanted to, and...and..."

Amanita burst into even more tears as she burrowed her head in the crook of Fennel's neck and sobbed. Fennel was surprised, but touched as well; she hadn't known Amanita cared so much about her well-being. Yet, it was still strange to see Amanita shatter her definition of what the girl was like, directing her Pokemon against the grunts, and now breaking down on her shoulder. Her assistant was an example in extreme opposites, or perhaps just mood swings. Fennel patted Amanita's head, holding her close like a mother would.

"I'm alright," she said, trying to placate the younger girl. "Really, I am."

Her assistant sniffled and pulled away, rearranging her face back into a solemn state that frankly scared her a bit. "I'm glad," she said, her voice mostly devoid of inflection but still a little shaky. She glanced at the PC. "Need help?"

"Amanita," Fennel said. She cleared her throat nervously. "When did you-where did you get those Pokemon?"

Amanita shot her what seemed to be a look of mild annoyance. From tears to this? "I'm responsible for desigining and upgrading most of the Unovan PC network. I can deposit Pokemon and withdraw them just like any other person, can't I?"

"I...erm, didn't know you were a battler. That you even trained." She gestured at the two stalwart Beheeyem, both as stoic as a pair of marble statues. "They're quite powerful."

"Thank you," said Amanita, though it came out a bit strained. "Now, do you need help on your PC? I can speed it up for you, if you want."

"_Amanita_." Fennel tried to make her voice sound as stern as possible. "How did you get these two? You never told me that you were a Trainer when you filled out your application, much less such an accomplished one. I just want to-"

"It's inconsequential," her assistant hissed. "Nothing you need to be concerned about. What you _do _need to concern yourself with is getting aboard a plane and leaving this region before it all goes to shit. Because it is." She waved at hand at the two limp Poison-types lying docile in their corner. "Didn't you find it odd that there were only a few security guards? Unova's standards are better than this." Her face became bitter. "The airport was already set up before you even got here. They were just waiting for you to come. It was only a matter of time. And it will only be a matter of time before you miss your chance to _esca__pe_."

"Amanita, I-"

"_Please_, Professor." The girl's voice was hard, yet there was an undeniable sadness about it that made Fennel want to cry. "Let's debate the details of my hidden talents later, shall we? We really don't have time to be idling away our minutes talking." Her gaze became flinty. "Are you _sure _you don't need me to hasten the PC's operations?"

"It would be appreciated," she replied, still slightly unnerved by Amanita's rapid shift in emotion. When had she become so adept at concealing her feelings? In fact, when had Amanita made the transition from the happy person she was into this toughened, cold fighter?

Amanita typed a series of commands into the PC, opening a separate screen filled with meaningless lines of code. Meaningless to _her_, perhaps, but Amanita understood it full well. Fennel was forced to remind herself that Amanita was the leading developer of the Unovan PC system; if she helped design most of it, then she was quite obviously familiar with the language in which it was written. The girl's fingers flew across numerous keys, adjusting commands and increasing information flow. The downloading process sped itself up by at least thrice the rate it had been before, and it wasn't long before the machine gave a _ping _and popped out the Pokeball containing her Musharna.

Scooping up the plastic sphere in her hands, Fennel switched the vial to her left hand as she enlarged the orb and readied to throw it. Amanita stopped her with a wave of her hand.

"Not yet," she cautioned. "I think...there's someone else in the room with us..."

Fennel sensed nothing, but Amanita seemed to know what she was doing. The assistant muttered, "Scan the area. Both of you."

Her Beheeyem responded to her orders swiftly. Both Psychics' eyes glowed cerulean as an invisible force swept through the room, covering every inch and overlooking nothing. Fennel felt her heart rate accelerate briefly as the force crept over her body and left just as abruptly.

Finally, Amanita shouted, "Thunderbolt!"

Without warning, the two bipeds sent streaks of scorching lightning at the space she was pointing at. It appeared no one was there, but as the beams neared, a purple barrier fizzled into existence and absorbed the impact of both attacks without so much as a crack marring its surface. As the barrier dispersed, a white-haired man and a gleaming Bisharp were made visible. Her heart leaped into her throat at the sight of these two strangers manifesting without her notice. Had they been in the room all along?

The Shadow spoke. "I have come to apprehend Professor Lillian Fennel. Step aside, please."

"Who the hell are you?" Amanita snapped, her voice harsher than Fennel remembered. The Beheeyem drifted closer to their master, flanking her in guarded stances.

"Merely a proxy," he replied. He extended a gloved hand. "Professor Fennel, if you would be so kind as to come with me-"

Amanita gave him no time to respond, barking out another order. "Psychic, both of you!"

Blue sparks leapt between the distance from Amanita to the shadow, the air shimmering as telekinetic waves distorted it. A powerful current of energy rose and flew towards the man, but his Bisharp jumped in front of him and intercepted the attack. The shimmering current passed harmlessly around it and quickly faded, leaving nothing in its wake but overturned chairs.

"Amanita Blackwell," the Shadow intoned. "As surmised, your skills from your prior occupation as an Ace Trainer have deteriorated during your exit by 24%. You failed to calculate that a Dark-type could easily take your attack unscathed." He paused. "Though, your defeat of four armed Level 3 grunts should be commended."

Fennel could scarcely believe her ears. Amanita, an _Ace Trainer_? She hadn't mentioned anything about _that _when she had applied for her position at the lab. Giving a strange, crazed laugh, she supposed it made sense. Amanita, who had two Beheeyem and had taken out four grunts on her own.

As for Amanita herself, the man's startling information rattled her visibly. Her shoulders tensed, her hands balled into fists, and she set her body in a strictly defensive position, glowering at him. Fennel shot her a look, which she did not acknowledge.

Bisharp launched itself into the air, uttering a metallic growl low in the base of its throat. Before Amanita or her Pokemon could react, it had landed in front of her. Its bladed arms shone in the light, each deadly edge and curvature meticulously honed to razor-sharp points. In blind terror, Fennel threw the flask full of Dream Mist onto the floor, pulling a sleeve over her face as she did so. The glass shattered easily, allowing viscous plumes of smoke to erupt from the rupture and swarm over the dual Steel-Dark type. Amanita started in alarm, as did Fennel, when the mist had no effect. Bisharp walked through the cloud still with no sign of disorientation or sudden fatigue.

"Dream Mist is a byproduct of Psychic-types; therefore, it is classified as a Psychic attack and also ineffective."

At the Shadow's words, Amanita gritted her teeth. "Shadow Ball!" she shouted, and the Beheeyem fired off three murky spheres each at the Bisharp. Pivoting, the armored humanoid swiftly swung its arms around, severing four of the orbs before gliding gracefully to the side and dodging the final two. They collided with the space near Fennel's head, showering the Professor with bits of debris. She cringed and ducked her head as she waited for the clouds to settle.

"Professor!" Amanita shrieked, the air warping as her Beheeyem hastily diverted the haze of Dream Mist away from her body. "I told you, _run_!"

Struggling to her feet, Fennel plodded through the thick plumes of dust stirred up by the explosion and made her way out, maneuvering around overturned furniture and plants and trying desperately to keep her wits about her. She made the brief mistake of looking to her right and saw, with a sense of unreal horror, the Shadow watching her from a short distance away. Watching her with a cold, predatory gleam in his eyes. She blinked only once, and then he was upon her, his body pressed against hers, his skin radiating absolute frigid _coldness_, his pupils like fathomless black spirals-

"Get away from her!" screeched Amanita, her Beheeyem whirling about with their bodies awash in blue light. The chairs that remained lifted themselves into the air, poised like missiles about to strike. With a whoosh of air, they did, veering towards the white-haired man with aggression and blurring into shiny oranges and silvers.

The Shadow grabbed her and jerked her roughly away. Her purse slipped from her arm and tumbled to the ground, its contents spilling out. The Pokeball with her Klink, the vials of Dream Mist which rolled into narrow crevices and stayed there, and a slew of papers and miscellaneous paraphernalia. Musharna's Pokeball also slipped from her grasp and tumbled onto the ground, clacking against the linoleum tiles as it did. Even as the chairs clattered to the ground, they quickly rose up again, an angry swarm of Beedrill-as-furniture directed by the psychic intent of the Beheeyem.

Amanita looked furious. "Let. Her. Go."

"That is a task I am unable to perform."

The chairs crumpled and shuddered under an invisible weight as a Banette manifested, cheekily grinning from its perch far above. With a wave of its hands, sinister blue flames appeared and shot towards the floating heap, igniting plastic and metal in a giant blazing bonfire and reducing the pile to a scorched mess. The Beheeyem let the chairs drop, disregarding them for they were no longer useful.

"While you remain a formidable foe," said the Shadow, "you have lost discipline. Your tactics are flawed, predictable, and leave you in perfect position for an attack."

Upon that grave pronouncement, one of the Beheeyem let out an earsplitting cry as it clutched its chest, its entire frame writhing in pain. Amanita looked on in horror as a black stake, flickering at the edges like some intangible weapon, drove into her Pokemon's body. The Psychic flailed about, its arms stretching upwards and a slow web of dark veins spreading from the initial puncture. Ahead, Banette gritted its teeth as thin wisps of dark vapor leaked from its mouth and coalesced into the deadly lance below.

"Curse," spat Amanita. "I never thought you'd stoop so low as to use such a move."

"There is no fairness in battle," the Shadow responded. "Since you left, you should have realized this by now. _Student_."

Fennel gasped. At the same time, Amanita turned to her, her gaze full of inexpressible misery and guilt. For a moment, rage flared, but it quickly died down to a terrible despondence that was even more terrifying to behold. Her former assistant's arms hung limply at the sides, her posture clearly being one of utter defeat.

"He's...your...m-mas..." She could not bring herself to speak the words aloud; some childish part of her believed that if she didn't, she could unhear what Amanita had just said, could deny the awful truth that was only now beginning to dawn upon her.

"Professor," Amanita sighed, looking so world-weary all of a sudden. "It's...I'm sorry."

Fennel felt something lodge in her throat. "Wh-what was the real reason you applied to work in my lab? Was it because _he _sent you?"

"It was nothing of the sort," her assistant whispered. "I...I had already left by then." She looked up, her eyes watery again. "Professor, _please_," she begged. "It's the truth, I _swear_. _Please_."

"Amanita, I-I can't _do this_ anymore!" she heard herself shriek. "It's all _lies_! I _trusted _you, Amanita! I loved you like a _daughter_! And now..._now_..."

Her mind jumped to all sorts of possibilities and motives for her assistant possibly following (_hunting_) her as she made her way through a number of cities all the way to Mistralton, and none of them sounded particularly non-threatening. That fear, dark and murky and insidious, rose up in her again, choking whatever words she might have had left. Perhaps it was better that she couldn't speak. Amanita looked like she had just been slapped in the face.

"Professor," she tried again, sounding more like a hurt child than a teenager and this_-this apprentice _that she was. Her attention wavered, divided between Fennel and her Beheeyem. The latter was writhing in the air, screaming like it was being skewered by invisible forks. The ugly darkness had spread in an almost cancerous way; the gems embossed in its head, tourmalines and emeralds and jade and garnets, all dulled as though the color was being leeched out of them.

"For God's sake, Beheeyem, use Shadow Ball!" she yelled, her command coming out a bit on the weaker side. Her second Beheeyem sang out as it shot a bubbling black sphere at the Banette, its song hauntingly shrill as the orb collided with the ghost. Banette's energy, which was already depleted, sank even further until the phantom toppled to the floor. It didn't disperse like Gengar and haunter, but laid there like a fish out of water, tendrils of ghastly smoke still streaming from the corners of its lips. Fennel marveled, rather morbidly, how its zippered teeth were still locked tight; superstition held that a Banette's soul would escape once its mouth opened.

Her mind was a mess of hazy images and rapid thoughtstreams that seemed tangled up in knots. As Banette uttered a final, piercing scream, Amanita's second Beheeyem froze and then visibly _slackened, _like it was a marionette whose strings had just been cut. _Destiny Bond_, Fennel observed deliriously. The Psychic fell in tandem with the Ghost, both of them lying on opposite sides of a ruin of broken chairs and plants that stretched impossibly, fathomlessly across like a canyon. Amanita stared, slack-jawed and terrified and maybe even humiliated. Fennel could read it in her assistant's eyes; there was a desire to explain, to try and correct these sudden startling revelations, but all that was surpassed by a sense of hopelessness so powerful that it overwhelmed everything else.

"Focus," the Shadow barked, something unmistakably stern creeping into his otherwise emotionless voice. Bisharp surged forth, a warrior in flashing pieces of scarlet armor and wickedly glinting swords as it struck at Amanita's only remaining Beheeyem with a Night Slash.

"Protect!" Amanita cried, and the Psychic generated a flickering barrier just in time for the attack to hit. It was weakened, yes, but Banette was out of their duel and its wretched power no longer held sway over the humanoid. The stake had already disappeared, and the sinister pattern of ink-black veins was retreating back to their crux. As Bisharp's arm collided with Beheeyem's shield, there was a resounding _crack _as Bisharp rebounded, skidding halfway across the length of the room before coasting to a stop.

The girl gritted her teeth. "Stop it. Let the Professor go." Her voice trembled. "She has no part in this!"

"She has every part in it. She sealed her fate when she elected to go and board a plane to Sinnoh, at your behest." The Shadow tilted his head in an almost quizzical manner. "As have you."

"You think your organization, your goals are new? There have been countless other teams like yours, and all of them are now defunct and in shambles. Team Plasma won't be any different." But a tremor as she spoke betrayed the fear she felt.

"You say one thing with your tongue, but your eyes speak differently. You are afraid, and rightly so." Bisharp leapt forth, dashing like a bolt at the Psychic and calling up a whirling storm of stones to strike. Beheeyem caught the rocks and redirected them, reversing the projectiles against their summoner. Bisharp held firm, weathering the attacks from behind its own protective field. Rocks slammed against a wall of translucent light and shattered.

"I'm not afraid." A hiss and a bang as Thunderbolt skimmed through the air and struck one of the windows, shattering it instantly.

"Denial is the weapon of the weak. And you, child, are weak for fearing what _is_ and for denying it."

A potted plant sailed through the air, stopped, and was abruptly cleaved in two. Bisharp pirouetted around an onslaught of objects, each thrown by Beheeyem. The Psychic was desperate to put the Dark-type at a distance. Amanita, meanwhile, looked enraged.

"I'm _not _afraid! You are, you and the rest of your team. You're all cowards!"

Plaster flaked off the walls as Bisharp twisted to avoid a Psychic. The telekinetic wave slammed into the space it had previously occupied with devastating force, bringing with it a slew of torn-off flooring tiles and torn metal supports. Sinuously, gracefully, the dual-type crossed its arms and leapt high, bringing its blades down onto Beheeyem's torso with a sickening tear. The alien stumbled back, moving its hands through the air and calling up more weapons with which it could attack. Fennel bit back a scream as one of the PCs lifted up, slanted, and flew at its intended target, wires streaming behind it and sparking. Bisharp hardly batted an eye as it mustered another Protect. The machine crumpled and burst upon impact, countless complex components scattering everywhere.

"You must remember, then, that you once sided with us."

Amanita bit the inside of her cheek. Her eyes glistened. "That was before I knew what it was I dealing with."

"I think you _do_ know, Miss Blackwell."

As the barrier dissipated, jagged bolts of lightning crackled and smashed into Bisharp, sending it backwards and into a now broken frame. The humanoid quickly retaliated with another Stone Edge. Beheeyem, from its vantage point in the air, was able to redirect the rocks thrown at it and direct them back. The stones, like recalcitrant bullets, zoomed forward, striking the already weakened plaster and leaving fresh new gouges. Bisharp hissed, the sound like a boiling teakettle. Beheeyem murmured.

"I guess I do now," Amanita snapped. "I know the ugliness of it all. I've seen, and I've lived. You haven't."

"You are wrong," he replied. "I have seen, and I am still living. You are already dead."

A shower of sparks rained down from the light fixtures on the ceiling as the lightbulbs exploded in their sockets. Beheeyem wielded two wicked bolts of electricity, each half the length of the room and as deadly as a pair of serpents. Wailing, it lashed out. Bisharp avoided both and retaliated with a Focus Blast. Pressing its hands together, it charged up a glowing sphere of energy between its palms and then fired. The recoil tore through the air, and the sound was like a gunshot. Drawing a hand horizontally across its face, Beheeyem diverted the orb away, allowing it to crash into one of the still-intact windows and detonate harmlessly. Glass shards sprayed into the air.

"I'm not as dead as those who follow the orders of some king and his oversized dragon," her assistant growled. "I'm not subservient to a monarch any longer. I'm free. Do you hear that? I'm _free_."

Another Focus Blast shot forth, a luminous, gem-like projectile that made a whistling sound as it soared, arced steeply, and dropped down onto Beheeyem's head. The Psychic made a slashing downward motion, and the sphere abruptly changed direction, its path twisted by the alien's telekinetic control. This second orb collided with the ground, sending a geyser of tiles upward.

"And you-_you can burn in hell_!"

Two of the windows burst at once, metal frames vibrating in distress as a hailstorm of glass burst from the portals and circled Bisharp like a relentless swarm of hornets. Under the force exerted by Beheeyem, the pieces cracked and fractured even more, becoming sand-like wisps that whirled in a deadly twister around the humanoid nestled within. Bisharp struck with a Night Slash, sending some of the sparkling dust spraying onto the ground. The tornado shuddered, dispersed partially, and that was all Bisharp needed to make its escape. It shot out of the maelstrom, screeching and with arms upraised. It looked like a living guillotine. Beheeyem cried out in alarm and distress and sent a Thunderbolt flying. The bolt missed by a foot, and Bisharp landed a hit on the Psychic's arm, leaving an ugly mark.

"You are _scared_, foolish child, but you cannot even acknowledge this. You are weak, and unfocused, and in turn, you leave your Pokemon vulnerable," the Shadow intoned, sounding like a reprimanding instructor. Amanita's face turned an angry shade of red, her shoulders quivering in barely contained fury.

"You know nothing about me!" she screamed, and the air was suffused with the scent of ozone as yet another bolt streaked and collided with empty space. Heat flared, Fennel's hair whipped around her face, and she heard metal screws popping and trembling in their supports as lightning danced wildly above.

"You now nothing, do you understand? _Nothing_!"

"I know your fear."

Beheeyem raised a hand, preparing to fire off another Thunderbolt, but only weak discharges of electricity came out. It was exhausted, and the attack would take some more time to prepare. With Bisharp incoming, it looked up at the ceiling and the network of metal bars that criscrossed it and _pulled_. A thick steel girder came free and swung around like an oversized baseball bat. Lithely, Bisharp leapt _onto _the bar, darting across its surface with light steps, and then it was above Beheeyem, blades glinting in the sunlight, and it was a living guillotine again. Another cut, this one being a Slash. Beheeyem wailed.

"You are _weak_. Look at your Pokemon and how it suffers because of your own incompetence in leading it."

"That's not _true_!"

The Shadow's grip tightened around Fennel, and she felt as if she were suffocating. "You lie. Once again, you choose to deny the truth instead of facing it. This is what makes you weak, what makes you incompetent, what makes you _dead_."

"Shut up, _shut up, SHUT UP_! You don't know anything, _you bastard_!"

Amanita's composure was slipping, her commands uttered harshly and seemingly without foresight. Beheeyem followed her orders without questioning, but Fennel could detect a reluctance behind each move, a sort of repressed despair. Psychics were some of the most intelligent species by nature, and already it could see the direction this battle was taking and the inevitability with which it would conclude. And in whose favor.

Gems winking, it shot, in quick succession, a fusillade of Shadow Balls, few of them actually making contact with their target and those that did barely leaving an indent in the warrior's armor. Bisharp was just like its master-stealthy, quick, steadfast, and powerful when attacking. Like an expert swordsmaster, it rained down a flurry of blows; quick swipes and glowing diagonal cuts and even gunning at the nimble Beheeyem with stones and spheres of energy.

The Psychic dodged as best as it could, making shields to absorb the attacks it could not avoid. But its barriers crumpled, its walls broke, and it knew that the end was nearing. Fennel could see it too, despite her lack of battling expertise. It was simply _there_, laid out in front of her like a book. The Shadow knew it. Amanita did as well, though she was ignoring it in favor of a final, desperate struggle with a glimmer of hope at the other side of the tunnel waiting to be seized.

_Give up, Amanita, _she wanted to say. _Please. It will be better for you. For me. For your Pokemon._

But her assistant's eyes were like flint, glaring and obstinately choosing to pursue the win rather than give up. She saw it well, had seen it in the eyes of other Trainers she observed. It made her sad. Very sad. This duel, if it could be called that, was depressingly beautiful to watch, as the Pokemon danced a dance of death and their Trainers gave commands. The air was heavy with electricity and fire and something else that smelled like blood. She wanted to cry as she saw Amanita, _Amanita_, standing on her side of the room against what seemed like an army of monsters. This girl, this child, was facing it all on her own. An adult like Fennel could only watch from the sidelines.

It was a desperate, disturbing tango between the Psychic and the Dark-type. Sparks shifted, coalesced, and then shifted again, violently torn away as Beheeyem finally readied another Thunderbolt and shot it. As Bisharp ran, the bolt curved, touched ground, and followed after it with deadly fixation. She gasped as viciously hot air rose and billowed around them, making her eyes fill with fears. And still the bolt continued, traveling and leaving scorched black lines in the tiles. Abruptly, Bisharp pivoted and summoned another barrier in time for the bolt to collide. Flecks of purple light broke away as the bolt drew over the shield, fracturing the wall and then causing it to crumple with a snap.

And still, Amanita stood her ground. She was going to see it through until _one_ of them was unable to battle.

"Does your conviction falter?"

"Never."

Black whorls of mist seeped through craters in the wall and ceiling as several Shadow Balls missed their mark. All the while, Bisharp evaded, its movements mercurial and impossibly complex. She saw the lights on Beheeyem's body dim until they were only tiny glints, the once-bright jewels tarnished and cracked. Torn cables snaked and slithered around the Psychic, making feeble attempts to bind Bisharp. Below, the dual-type was a blur of red and black, its blides whirling smoothly with effortless ease as they cut through the cords.

"You are weak. You spurn my king's grace-the king that once guarded you from harm."

"I've changed. I know better now. I'm _stronger_!"

"No, child. You are still infantile in your knowledge of strength. You are still just a girl, not a huntress."

Metal bent and groaned. The air choked. Flecks of paint dripped like drops of water. Opposing energies clashed and tore at the space around them. Fennel could feel it, a beating, sonorous pulse that hammered on her ears.

_Please._

Stones lancing through the air, curving inward as though directed by some otherworldly force and smashing into Beheeyem before it could divert the projectiles away or muster a shield. Hard, jagged earth met with pearlescent opals, luminous agates, and carmine rubies and crashed against them. Cracks spread along the gems, and Bisharp gave a clanking grunt while the Psychic cried out.

_Please_.

Swift retaliation came in the form of another Shadow Ball, this one seemingly more powerful than its predecessors. The shadows themselves seemed to swirl, to draw towards a center of inexorable gravitation as Beheeyem raised a hand up high. From it blossomed a grain of darkness as tiny as a mote of dust, then burgeoning and expanding into a globe-like bomb cloaked in sinister black tendrils, almost as if the orb itself was alive. The room was suddenly very cold, and Fennel heard a tombstone cackle and inhaled the faint but putrescent scent of decay. With a shriek, Beheeyem flung the sphere out, the air parting in hissing screams to let it pass by. Bisharp brought its palms up, helmet slanted over its eyes, and flickering shards of blue coalesced to form another barrier. Energies collided and atoms split. A rush of wind spread like a shockwave from the epicenter of the blast, rustling Fennel's hair and stinging her eyes.

_Please, stop._

"I think that this pointless distraction has gone on for long enough." The Shadow swept out an arm. "End this."

Amanita sneered, the expression ugly and foreign against her softer features. "If you wish."

Turning to her trusty Psychic, she ordered, "Beheeyem, I want you to fire a full-scale Thunderbolt. Then Shadow Ball. And then another Thunderbolt."

Obeying its master, the devoted Pokemon fired off all three of the requested attacks, the combined intensity of the triad bathing the room in radiant lights as bright as those from the sun and as painful to look at. Fennel winced and gasped as she felt blazingly hot air streaming past her, blistering her skin. Following the rush of scorching wind was a noxious smell she hadn't noticed before that reminded her of spoiled meat. She gagged, but the Shadow continued to hold her tight even in the aftermath. His face was calm and undisturbed.

There was a huge, gaping crater at the room's center, littered with shards of plastic and chunks from the tiled floor. Beheeyem hovered opposite of Bisharp, the two of them staring each other down in an ocular deathmatch. Then, without warning, Beheeyem collapsed. A still-glowing violet slash ran across the length of its brown torso. The Psychic shuddered as it hit the ground. Bisharp stood over it, unscathed save for the black, burnt marks marring parts of its chest. The warrior stared at its felled enemy with indifference, watching as Beheeyem's bright eyes darkened and its body stilled.

Amanita was silent, cowed into submission by her failed last-ditch attempt at victory.

"I believe this is checkmate, Miss Blackwell," the Shadow said. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "And your plan was flawed even before it was executed. Mistralton was already a taken city." A pause. "You should have noticed by now that are no planes here."

"You fucker," her assistant rasped. "You fucking asshole. I hate you. _I fucking hate you_!"

She leapt, swinging her foot around in an arc that would've taken off any other man's head, her lab coat whirling wildly about her. The Shadow didn't let go of Fennel, didn't so much as flinch as he seized her by the ankle and slammed her against the ground, knocking her out immediately. The frames of her glasses bent and crumpled under the force of the motion, and a small trickle of blood oozed out of her nose. Amanita was down for the count. The savageness, the open brutality behind it (the cold callousness), drew a shrill scream from her lips as she stared down at her assistant.

So still. Unmoving.

So cold.

"Pathetic," muttered the Shadow. "Over in less than an hour."

Fennel stared dully, her mind beyond all comprehension as a squad of black-suited grunts rushed into the room, surveying the area after the short lived battle and subsequent escape attempt. Men in vests and shiny armor with numerous Pokeballs strapped to their magnetized belt crashed in through the ceiling, through the orthodox entrances, and through windows. She felt her brain slow to a snail-pace as she looked around and heard the beating of helicopter blades in the distance. Wind gusted in through jutting holes in the walls, swirling the debris around.

The Shadow glanced at her with his apathetic, cold eyes. His Bisharp walked up beside him, red armor clanking, and all she could see was _red_, Amanita who was (a traitor but not a _traitor_) incapacitated on the floor beneath her, Rodgewell and his charming personality that had shifted so radically in minutes, vials of Dream Mist that were now surely buried underneath rubble, _her work up in flames_-

Her dreams. Juniper's dreams. Unova's dreams now in shambles. She hadn't quite realized how powerful Team Plasma was, but now, in this wasteland of plastic and steel, she felt that she understood it all, or at least a small part of it.

_He has a GOD_-

"Sleep, Professor," the white-haired man commanded, pressing a finger to her temple.

She had no energy left to resist and did as she was told, welcoming the command and falling into a slumber as dark and endless as a black hole.

The last two vials of Dream Mist remained untouched, still sitting in the lonely, rubble-strewn corner. Inside, plumes of pink and black smoke swirled like a pair of trapped spirits. Her Musharna laid with them, dreaming dreams that Fennel could not even begin to understand. Dreams as pitch-black as storm clouds.

[. . .]

_Summon the bearers of Armageddon_

In the distance, on the stark Twist Mountain, the sound of hoofbeats could be heard. Emolga, Cubchoo, Gigalith, and Beartic resting in that area quickly scurried away, alerted by the unmistakable aura of power that went with the staccato sounds. An old aura that resonated deep within in them, drawing forth a primitive understanding and respect that had lain dormant for centuries. Until now.

From the mountain's precipice leapt three blurs of blue, green, and brown, each figure darting too quickly to be fully observed. Thunder rumbled as the trio came to a landing on one of the mountain's ledges, none of them winded but instead pulsating with a divine power.

The first was a thick, bulky, stalwart creature, broad in size and stocky in height. Its fur was a shade of mahogany, with occasional plates of orange near its massive neck. Idly, it flicked its curving, bull-like horns back and forth, snorting. Plumes of dust jetted from its nostrils, mixing with the stone below and dispersing quickly. Its eyes, alert and stern, glowered at Mistralton, its eyesight incredibly sharp as was the case with its companions. Where it stood, tremors, faint but unmistakably _there_, rippled through the earth, though the ledge atop which it crouched did not fall. The air around it shimmered, turning, in parts, to a thick, dark, soil-like color before fading away.

The second was much more slender in build, with narrow but strong legs good for leaping or running through open fields. Its head was shaped like a brimmed cap, a thin but sharp petal wound into its neck, and its eyes calm and watchful. This being was distinctly more feminine in nature, its mind less brutal than those of its siblings but just as wrathful if provoked. It brought with it the smell of flowers and forests, of wild grass and wheat, and where it walked, blades of grass and green patches of flora burst from the ground, compelled by the creature's power. As it bowed its head, the space around it shimmered like emeralds.

The third stood at the front of the triumvirate, looking stately and majestic with its sharp horns upraised and a defiant glare upon its face. Thick metallic growths protected its hooves, and its fur, a dark cerulean color, glistened like steel. Unlike its brother and sister, it did not call forth elements from the soil as it walked the earth; instead, the space underneath it became nearly prismatic where its cloven feet made contact, glowing like diamonds and turning a sleek gray color. With an impatient toss of its head, it sent the air wavering with prismatic colors, a tiny whirlwind of spectrums disturbed into being.

These were the defenders of Pokemon. The avengers. The destroyers. The old gods who had walked and seen the extent to which humans could destroy. And they despised them with a vengeance.

_I sense it, _the blue one thought into its siblings' minds. _An old power has awakened. The White Dragon is unleashed upon the world._

_Are you sure, brother? _inquired his sister, the green god. _If the aspect of White has appeared, then its twin, the aspect of Dark, must have been released also. Their awakenings must always coincide with each other; it is the only way._

_They have alligned themselves with heroes already. _The blue god sniffed. _The White Dragon was victorious. Truth has defeated Idealism._

_There has been a victor? _growled the brown god. _Incredible. In the centuries past, countless heroes have warred, and there has never been a definite conclusion. You are certain of this?_

_Both of you, observe. Feel the power thrumming through the land. Is it not so?_

The two gods looked, and _saw_, feeling the Yang Dragon's aura even here, far away from its location. _It is so, _they agreed.

_There are more, _the green god said. _I can feel the Thunderer's presence from where I stand. It has also been awakened. I suspect that its brothers will soon follow._

_Indeed_, the blue god murmured. _And, dare I say it, the Victory Star is also stirring from its slumber. _

_What of the Muse?_

_She has yet to wake, though I doubt she will interfere even if she does. She has always been neutral in times of conflict._

_You think that this is a time of conflict, brother?_

_Can you not feel it on the winds? In the very fibers of your being? _The blue god stamped a hoof on the ground. _This land is readying for war. The humans' war._

The brown god hissed. _The destroyers again. We shall oppose them once more?_

_No. _The blue god was contemplative. _I feel, already, this war is drawing to a close as quickly as it has started._

_How?_

_The White Dragon. Its powers have never reigned triumphant; always, the duo have been locked in battle. The wars that have followed have, as such, been long and harsh. This time, though, the White Dragon has triumphed. The war it supports is ending in its favor. _

_Incredible, _said the green god.

_This is not our fight, _the blue god intoned. _We have no business interfering in this end of things. Let the humans sort it out afterwards; now, we shall depart._

_What if the war breaches the lives of our brethren? _The brown god was curious, eyes alight with the spark of battle. _What then, brother?_

_We shall intercede as we always have. For now, let us leave. The humans will bring about their own end. _The blue god gazed at Mistralton, at the gleaming airport of steel and glass. _But the White Dragon will deliver them with holy fire._

With that, the three deer bounded off, disappearing as quickly as they had come.


	8. Chapter 7: Hell

**A/N: Announcements will now be posted at the top, reviewer thanks at the bottom. I think it helps the story flow better, and I'm hoping that seeing a list of people who reviewed at the end will encourage you to review as well. XD **

**This chapter is _very lengthy_, so it's recommended that you break this up into chunks, or prepare yourself with a drink and some snacks before setting down to read. I'm very, very sorry for not updating sooner! :( But anyway, Part 1 will be concluded with Ch 7 (8), which means that Part 2 will begin with the next update. The romance will start to become a larger part of the plotline, as many of you have been waiting for, so I hope some upcoming N/Touko will cheer you up. :) As stated in the summary, though, this is _eventual _N/Touko, so the romance will be a steady process, not a sudden, rushed event. It will definitely be there, however, so stay tuned for more!**

* * *

"Don't make me sad  
Don't make me cry  
Sometimes love is not enough  
And the road gets tough  
I don't know why  
Keep making me laugh  
Let's go get high  
The road is long, we carry on  
Try to have fun in the meantime

Come and take a walk on the wild side  
Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain  
You like your girls insane  
Choose your last words  
This is the last time  
'Cause you and I  
We were born to die."

-Lana Del Rey, "Born To Die"

* * *

_Closure approaches__  
__Fire blazes across the land__  
__A tide of red to herald the arrival of the new king__  
__Hear the Advent Anthem_

The car drove smoothly across the rough stone-strewn roads, mindless of the clouds of dust it was kicking up and oblivious to the semi-rough terrain beneath it. It was an off-roader, designed for much harsher conditions than some backwoods trail littered with weed clumps and the occasional carelessly-tossed glass bottle. Like some dark sentinel, it crushed whatever debris was in its path, moving with only one goal in mind-to reach Nuvema Town.

Professor Aurea Juniper was strapped into the driver's seat, her unlined, steady hands maneuvering the wheel through thick brush and over ragged fields of grass. The black paint on her Suburban gleamed in the beams of sunlight that shone through the forest canopy, though these beams were concentrated less under the cover of the trees and more in the open areas, in the tall grasses. Her headlights cut through the greenery like swords, piercing through the natural gloom that all forests have and scattering a few Patrat and Herdier out of the way.

She was exhausted, and probably not really supposed to be operating a motor vehicle in her state. She had been living on caffeine and a few pills for the last two days, and it was finally taking its toll. Her normally sunny face was marred by darkening bags under her eyes, as if she had been the recipient of a particularly well-aimed punch, and her cheekbones were beginning to stand out clearer. They looked like slashes on her cheeks; bony, shadowy slashes.

Yawning loudly and self-assuredly within the confines of her rolled-up car windows, she finally pulled into Nuvema Town and passed its invisible front gates. The sun was shining, but it was not altogether a pleasant shine; it was a harsh, wintry, early-spring kind of sun, the kind that shot out glaring sunbeams like crystal arrows and shone too brightly into her eyes, and then it felt like her retinas had been put through a supernova. Bright spots (and black ones) danced in her line of sight, but she pulled on. Shaking her head to clear away the aftereffects of the stunningly bright glare, she abruptly pulled hard on the brakes, screeching to a stop feet away from Touko White's mother, Linda White.

Her initial thought was one of confusion-what in the world was Mrs. White doing standing in the middle of a well-traveled street without any heed for caution? Then, as she stepped out of the car, she saw the haggard, drawn look on the woman's face and revised her previous opinion. Mrs. White looked like one of the haunted-or worse, one of the damned. She was wringing her hands nervously, several of her nails bitten to the stubs. Juniper observed this all with rising alarm-Mrs. White had never been too well after her daughter's defeat and subsequent imprisonment in only Arceus-knew-where-but kept her composure, striding over to the other woman and clearing away as much of the sleep-deprived, coffee-fueled look as she could. If only for the sake of common decency and keeping up appearances.

"Is something the matter?" she asked as she walked closer, hastily wiping her hands on her coat. Mrs. White, who seemed to be in a daze of sorts, startled slightly upon seeing the Professor but recovered quickly.

"There's a news report going on."

"What's so-"

"I really think you should see it," Mrs. White pressed, her knuckles standing out starkly against the warm skin of her palms. She blinked, and Juniper noticed that the woman's hair was messier than it had ever been lately, the roots all tangled up and bunched in knots. "It's important. It's about Mistralton City."

"Mistralton?" With an alarming sense of vertigo, she staggered back as she considered that Fennel was in Mistralton-Fennel, whom she had sent as a sacrificial Tepig of sorts. Fennel, who was supposed to give them a small chance of rescue. Fennel, who could be in any sort of danger right now-or _had _been, judging by Mrs. White alone. The ground seemed to drop from underneath her, her brain left reeling.

Fennel.

Oh Arceus, _Fennel_.

"Professor." The woman's voice brought her back to reality with a sharp tug, leaving her feeling like a Basculin hauled out of the water. Mrs. White was still standing there, and Juniper was still staring and gaping while her Suburban idled in the distance.

"Professor, you really have to see this." She glanced in the direction of the Professor's research lab, situated in the town's western orientation and surrounded by a grove of pine trees. Juniper thought she could hear the whistling of their personal windmills as a breeze whipped around their feet. Juniper shivered inadvertently.

"_Professor_."

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course." Now _she_ was the one in a daze, as she stumbled back to her car, only realizing once inside that Mrs. White still stood where she had been left behind. The woman, wearing an apron and a green blouse, waited patiently.

Juniper leaned her head out the window. "Excuse me, but do you want a ride? I can take you, if you want."

Mrs. White nodded, walking in slow, precise steps towards the car. She seemed nervous, shy somehow. "That...that would be nice. Thank you, Professor."

"Think nothing of it," Juniper said, inserting her key into the ignition and pulling away. "It's only a short drive away."

The car bucked a bit, then quickly leveled out as they reached Nuvema's smooth, concrete streets. Winds whipped around the town, carrying with them petals and grasses, heralding the arrival of spring. The air was thick with the smell of soil, of growth, and for once, Juniper took no pleasure from the fragrant aromas wafting through every house and apartment.

_Fennel, Fennel, Fennel, _she thought. _Dear Arceus, what have I gotten you into?_

As they pulled into the driveway of the lab, Cedric Juniper, her father, opened the door and watched them pull in with a stricken expression on his face. Seeing this, Juniper quickly pulled out her keys and hopped out the door, running over to Cedric in alarm. Mrs. White followed behind.

"Is it really that bad?"

"You'll have to see for yourself," he intoned gravely, holding the door open and ushering them inside.

Inside, the parents of Bianca and Cheren were also gathered. Cedric sat heavily on the sofa, his eyes drawn to the flickering, glowing TV, which was showing some sort of news broadcast. Juniper, with a growing sense of dread, took off her coat and hung it up before going to join them. Touko's mother was already there, looking ashen and covering her mouth with one hand.

"Early yesterday afternoon, at Mistralton's Central Terminal, Professor Lillian Fennel of Striaton City was arrested for being in possession of several dangerous explosive articles, as well as attempting to hijack one of the terminal's planes en route to Sinnoh. The Professor's actions have been labeled terrorist in nature, and she is currently being detained by the authorities, where she will await further trial. Her assistant, Amanita Blackwell, was also implicated in the plot and has been exposed as a dangerous anarchist agent seeking to plant a bomb aboard the plane of one of the Unovan delegates. The motivations of both women have yet to be discovered, but they remain under close observation. The two are likely to be given a life sentence for their actions, or, following the reinstitution of the death penalty, subjected to various execution methods-"

With a shaking hand, Cedric grabbed the remote and turned off the TV before the pretty, red-haired reporter could say any more. He ran a hand through his unkempt brown hair, his mouth set in a thin line. For the first time, Juniper observed, her dad looked old. Really old. The laugh lines around his eyes, the grooves set in his cheeks, and the streaks of gray amidst an otherwise undisturbed mop of brown seemed to stand out more starkly than ever before.

All seven of them stood in dead silence, the tension in the air thick. Bianca's father looked stunned, while his wife closed and opened her mouth in a state of shock. Cheren's parents both looked absolutely mystified and, as she looked closer, deadly scared for the fate of their son. No reports had been made about their children, though neither couple had received a call from them in months. Cedric had initially surmised that there was a disruption in communcation signals as Team Plasma rerouted satellites and altered broadcasts in the unabating tide of reconstruction and takeovers, but as the days progressed into weeks and still no sign of them could be heard, that anxiety settled into blind terror. Terror that somehow, their son and daughter had been implicated and caught in the jaws of something terrible and beyond their control. Something so giant that it was as black as space and as vast, something that threatened Unova itself.

It was a calamity that no natural disaster could ever hope to replicate. An end of things and a beginning of things to come. Death and rebirth, the closing of one pathway but the opening of the other. And, whatever was beyond that second door, it was both impossibly bright and mind-numbingly dark at the same time.

Though she loathed the term, Juniper began to suspect that an Armageddon-no, _the _Armageddon was upon them at last. The Day of Reckoning had come, and none of them were fully prepared for it.

But, what passed through Juniper's mind was none of these things. It was the broadcast, Fennel's face, and that word. _Execution._

_"...or, following the reinstitution of the death penalty, subjected to various execution methods..."_

She felt dizzy, her feet crumpling from under her as the ground rose up alarmingly to collide with her forehead. Luckily, her father caught her in time, his face a whirlpool of worry.

"Aurea? Are you okay?"

Was _she_ okay? The question, phrased in such a manner, seemed utterly absurd. _Was she okay_? What about Fennel and Amanita, stuck in some dingy prison Arceus-knows-where and doomed to a grisly end by lethal injection or electrocution? What about them? They had signed their death warrant by choosing to go on this venture. The venture that _she _(murderess) had suggested.

"Aurea? Are you listening?"

Her dad shook her, but no, she was not listening. Instead, Juniper stared in a sort of terrible awestruck wonder at empty space, the full implications of her actions crashing down on her like a ton of bricks. _She_, Aurea Juniper, had planted this insane idea in their heads, in all of their heads. She had been the one holding out the pen and paper, asking Fennel, her fucking _best friend_, to risk her life for them. She had put the weight of the world on fragile Fennel's shoulders, making her a reluctant Atlas with an even more reluctant mission. God, she was practically the one who had sent them to their deaths, holding out her pen and paper with a cheerful, relieved smile that she wouldn't be risking her ass for Unova, instead calling on another person to act as a scapegoat and take hell's fury if the shit hit the fan and they were all _fucked_-

"Aurea! Aurea, snap out of it!"

Now her father was shaking her, urging her to step back into reality. She did so with the sensation of drowning, of losing oxygen in her lungs. She gaped at Cedric's worried face, unable to articulate what she was feeling.

The terrible guilt of being implicated in murder. Of being a part of it.

She sucked air into her lungs with raspy trembling breaths. It felt as though the floor was crumbling beneath her, that her world was imploding. Her research. Touko, whom she had encouraged to pursue Zekrom, the Yin Dragon. She had been stringing everything along, unaware of the consequences, and now, as the world was burning, Aurea Juniper realized she was utterly useless. She knew battling strategy and theory, but was only moderately versed in the actual art of it. When Team Plasma came to Nuvema, and she had no doubt they would, even with all her years of accumulated experience as a Professor, it would fall on the town's few skilled battlers to hold them off for as long as they could, and she knew that they would not be able to stem the tide for very long.

"Professor Juniper?" Bianca's mother sounded concerned. "Are you quite alright?"

"Yes," she murmured, dazed. "I-I think I'll be fine."

"Aurea, what is it?" Cedric asked, still holding her and peering into her eyes like a doctor. "What's wrong?"

For the first time in years, since she had boldly set out to make a name for herself and get out from under the shadow of her father's scientific legacy, Juniper felt something she hadn't felt in a long time. Dependence.

Oh, how she loathed it. Juniper was a fiercely independent woman, born of a desire to survive and thrive in a world of already great minds. Minds like Rowan, pioneering the field of evolutionary study, or Oak, creator of the Pokedex and former reigning Champion of the Kanto League. At an early age, her father had put pressure on her to achieve the same level of success that he had held for many years, to become a cultured and well-respected person in the scientific community, a name that would be a household item and a source of familiarity for all of Unova. For years, the drive to succeed overwhelmed everything, and every move was a carefully calculated step in her scheme for recognition. Only until she really _did _attain the rank of Professor and outdid her father's work did she begin to feel regret, small pangs of guilt for her selfishness and lack of empathy.

She truly hated being dependent on others. It was a loathing ingrained in her since childhood, and for ages she had detested coming to her father for help or consultation in any matter, trusting solely in her knowledge and academic prowess. Until now.

With great, shuddering sobs, she broke down against Cedric's chest, her mask of composure and calm slipping and shattering as she bawled her eyes out. The onlookers, the parents of Touko, Bianca, and Cheren looked on sorrowfully as Juniper cried and cried and cried.

"It's my fault," she gasped out. "I... I didn't have to send her, I could've gone myself, but I did because I was afraid and-and now she's going to _die_!"

"It's okay, dear, it's okay-"

"_No it's not_!" she screamed, spittle flying from her mouth as she backed against the wall like an enraged Purrloin, her face a twisted paroxysm of anguish. "Don't you see? It was _my _fault, _my _fault for everything! My idiotic ideas that led to Touko White being defeated, my planning that led to Fennel and Amanita getting captured and executed! Everything that happened was _my fucking fault_!" Her eyes were wild. "For Arceus' sake, I _killed _them!"

They were all quiet for a few scant seconds. The heavy breathing of the parents, Cedric's pale, stunned expression, and Juniper, glaring aggressively at her father like a caged animal, her hair coming untucked from its usual bun and flyaway brown strands dangling in front of her face. She didn't just look like a madwoman, she _was _a madwoman.

Then, Cedric reached out and hugged his daughter close, stroking her hair like he had done when she was a child, which had been years ago at best. Father and child embraced, and Cedric whispered soothing placations into Juniper's ears as she broke into tears afresh, the bitter, salty tang of it on her lips.

"It's not your fault," he murmured urgently. "Events were beyond your control, and I trust that you had in mind what was best for the region-"

"I... _I _made excuses, not them!" she insisted, her lab coat now quite rumpled. She drew in rattling breaths, sniffing. "I sent them out on this expedition, it was my idea, _my _idea, and oh God, now they're going to be executed and it's all my fault, oh crap, Daddy, you must think I'm a terrible person-"

"I think nothing of the sort," he barked, pulling her even closer. "And don't you dare think of yourself that way, Aurea. Never, not once in a million years will you ever be a terrible person. _Never_."

"I killed them, killed them, _killed them_-" she rambled on, and Cedric realized that his daughter was, quite certainly, having a nervous breakdown. Not for the first time in his life, he wondered if he had put too much pressure on her in her youth, and if he had somehow passed on his strict mentality of utter independence to Aurea, and if _this _had been building up for years but she had been too self-assured to ask for help or confide in someone else. Not even Fennel, apparently. Not even himself, and he was her father and only parent after her mother died.

God, he was a blind man.

Cedric patted her on the back, marveling that Juniper was really, _really _a Grown Woman and not a Little Girl any longer, but here she was, showing the most vulnerability that anyone in Unova had seen in years. His eyes softened.

"June," he whispered, using her childhood nickname. "_It's not your fault_. None of this is. You have to believe this."

As she gazed up at him, tear-stained lashes looking like thin, dark branches, her face flushed but still maintaining a semblance of that friendly-yet-cold composure, he continued, "We're scientists, June. We do what we can to avoid negative outcomes whenever we can, but we can't predict the future, nor can we affect it completely. We're human. We make mistakes, we miscalculate. And it's never our fault, because we can't always anticipate future calamities. Not on scales like these."

He stared her in the eye, his hands firm. "You have to remember, June, that these people-_Team Plasma_-have been planning this for Arceus knows how many years. They've been plotting right under our noses, and it's not our fault for not knowing. They covered it up. They didn't leave tracks. That's why... that's why, when they emerged, it was so easy to convince a lot of people that they had the best intentions of the Pokemon at mind." Cedric exhaled sharply, the sound cutting in the general lack of noise besides his own. "I almost suspect that they were waiting for Team Galactic, Team Rocket, Team Aqua and Magma to fail. The people needed a savior after the teams. Team Plasma presented them with that opportunity.

"And now, it looks like we were wrong, doesn't it? That for all Unova bragged about being cleaner than Sinnoh and Kanto, for all our raving braggadocio, we were wrong, right? That the League... didn't even find out there was an entire castle right underneath them until their kind decided to make it public, right? You think that it's our fault? That it's your _fault_, June?"

Juniper, her eyes still tear-streaked, said nothing. Her hands were slack at her sides, and she turned away, something bitter and sad in her demeanor as she answered, "You know that. You know what I did. It was cowardice in the face of indecision, the worst kind there is." Her head swiveled back around. "Dad... I might not have done it myself, but I'm implicated in their murders. I planted the idea in their heads, in _our _heads. I'm as much as fault as Team Plasma is." There was something sad but defiant in the way she looked, in her rumpled lab coat and her rumpled hair and her more than rumpled emotional state. "Guilty by indirect interference. That's what a lawyer would say."

"No, June. It's not our fault. It's not _your_ fault. It's the fault of circumstance, of unpredictability, of carelessness, but by Arceus, June, don't you _ever _believe that _you _are to _blame_!" Cedric was the one trembling now, his arms shaking all over. "Do you hear me? _Don't ever _believe that!"

"Dad..."

"I'm sorry, June." Cedric dabbed at his eyes, suddenly teary. "I'm sorry if... if I wasn't the best father when I was a kid. If there really is anyone to blame, it's me. I treated you wrong. I'm so sorry."

"Dad, what are you saying?" Juniper was once again on the verge of tears herself.

Her father embraced her, seemingly speaking to himself and Juniper in particular, heedless to Mrs. White or the other onlookers. "Do you think I was a good dad, June? Do you think I raised you right?"

"Dad, o-of course you did," stammered Juniper. "Why are you asking me this? Why _now_? Dad, you've always been so nice to me and I-I'm sorry if I was an ungrateful daughter, you didn't do anything wrong, it was _me_-"

"No, stop it, June. Say nothing of the sort. Don't even _think _that you aren't perfect, because you _are_, June, you're everything to me." He took a shuddering breath. "Oh, Arceus, you remind me so much of your mother, you know. Both of you... were so... beautiful, and... I'm sorry."

"Dad!"

"June, I know I put too much pressure on you as a child. To succeed, to follow after my footsteps... I only wanted the best for you, June." He smiled sadly. "Shows how much I know, huh? Success isn't everything, I learned that too late." He smoothed back her tangled hair. "I wanted you to be happy, June, but I suppose... I tried to turn you into a duplicate of myself, didn't I? I wanted you to be a scientist, too. Do you understand why I'm telling you this, June?"

She shook her head, and he gave that same, sad smile. "Because the world is ending. Because it's taken me this long, this moment, this series of events to realize that you're precious to me, June. Everyday, you make me so _proud_, you know, and I'm sorry that I've never told you this before. I love you, Aurea. Can you forgive an old man for his ignorance?"

Juniper paused, taking in the full impact of his words. She remembered things: in first grade, getting an A on her first test and Cedric coming in, looking at it disinterestedly, and pinning it against the refrigerator with a small magnet; graduating from high school, her father in the front row but only giving a small smile and polite claps when she stepped up to the podium for her speech; finally, at Mistralton City, seeing Cedric in the Pokemon Center and, surprisingly, feeling an odd sense of loss, of emptiness in the cavity of her chest. Perhaps she had harbored some discontent, a grudge against her lost childhood, against the academic pressure, but when she stripped everything away, he was still her father, and he did love her; he just didn't show it well, nor did she.

The world was ending, that was true. And Juniper had no energy left to fight the conclusion.

"I forgive you," she whispered, almost fiercely. "Daddy, I forgive you, so don't be sad, okay?"

"June."

"Dad, I..." She couldn't bring herself to ask, but she did. "I... what's going to happen to us?"

For once, her father had no answer. He couldn't help her with her homework. And she didn't know what to do. "I don't know, Aurea," he replied. Hugging her close one more time, the last time, his cardigan sweater pressed against the weave of her lab coat, smelling like her father had always smelled: aftershave and spearmint toothpaste. He was her father, and he couldn't predict the outcome. "I don't know."

Outside, they could hear the alarmed chirping of a flock of Pidove, the screeching of disturbed Patrat, and a strange hum that seemed to come from the earth and the sky. In the lab, Petri dishes and microscopes rattled on their tables, hinges shuddering, the TV swaying to and fro. She glanced up, terrified. The light was flashing on and off, out-of-sync, before it shut down completely, blanketing the room in darkness.

"Dad...?" She was aware she sounded like a child and not like a Professor, but she couldn't care less.

"It's fine, June. It's fine." Cedric was panicking as well, though he was determined not to show it. As one of the overhead fluorescents swung eerily like a pendulum, he shouted, "Let's go, everyone! Out of the house, out of the house!"

"What if it's an earthquake?" Cheren's father shouted back. "Shouldn't we find shelter first?"

"It's not an earthquake," Cedric muttered, placing a hand against a potted plant to stop it from falling over and trying to orient himself. "The tremors... they're weaker, and dulled. Whatever it is, it's no earthquake, that's for sure. But rather, a result of something moving in..."

Pausing for only a moment, the Professor grasped the doorknob and twisted it to the side, shoving the door open just as a strong breeze rammed it savagely to the side, hinges squealing like disembodied voices. Wind gusted around him at alarming speeds, whipping the trees and bushes to and fro as though they were nothing but cotton ball in a hurricane. Shielding himself against the whipslash, he heard screams and shouts as doors opened and frightened families rushed out, drawn by the commotion. A young boy stared fearfully at something Cedric could not see, one foot still suspended above the pedal of his trike.

Gritting his teeth as wind lashed against his face, he stepped out from under the roof of the lab, walking down the winding stairs outside and squinting up at the sky, trying to avoid gazing into direct sunlight.

He saw three silver helicopters descending, gleaming a white almost too bright to look at as they settled on the ground like metallic members of an avian species, rotors whirring and kicking up plumes of dust before slowing down and collapsing into a fan-shaped semi-circle. In the cockpits of each vehicle, he could see two black armor-clad Plasma grunts, their chests covered in bulletproof vests and their shoulders and joints reinforced by iron plates. The only way he was able to distinguish them as being members of Team Plasma was by the Plasma insignias printed on the sides of all three helicopters, the black-and-white motif crossed by a blue bolt of electricity visible and familiar, but also visceral. A strange thrill, both of shock and terror, shot through him as he glimpsed the doors opening and the armored men and women sliding all, intimidating and bearing Pokeballs clipped to their belts. Their faces were hard, set in scowls, though many of them couldn't have been over their early twenties. For a moment, his mind flashed to the energetic young men and women during the Eden anti-war movement in Sinnoh, how they had been as young as these soldiers, and he felt horrified.

Peripherally, his mind sensed the approach of the others from the lab. Bianca's parents, Cheren's parents, and Touko's mother all gathered togethere in a ring of concerned adults, gazing apprehensively as the helicopters slowed and the grunts disembarked. Juniper was quick to hurry to his side, her eyes still tear-stained but maybe a little less broken. Her bun came loose and she let her hair flow free, her eyes trained on the milita slowly coming out and taking positions all around the town. The panicked residents drew back, afraid, as they had surely heard of Team Plasma's takeover in the other cities, but none of them really thought that they would come here. An irrational hope, borne of some thought that they would be spared because they were a minor spot on Unova's map, a quaint place not worthy of military attention.

Of course, it was the presence of the Pokemon lab that had done it. The lab stood out as a stark beacon against Plasma's growing anti-Trainer and Pokemon liberation regime, practically beckoning the grunts towards their home like sugar to flies. And now, they had come.

It really was happening.

Flashes of light lit up the sky as Pokeballs opened. Scolipede and Garbodor, Patrat and Klang, even foreign Seviper and Cacturne materialized, then stood defensively but aggressively beside their masters as a final figure descended from the middle helicopter. She saw the unmistakable colorful robes of a Sage, and he was accompanied by an unnatural, grotesque shadow with claws and teeth that raked lines in the earth and cackled. A Ghost-type.

"Dad..."

Cedric held his daughter close. "It's over, June," he whispered. "I... it hurts me to say this, but it's over."

She knew it was over, too. She just hadn't expected it to happen to fast.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Do... do you forgive me?"

Her father was crying too, smoothing back the sandy cascade of her hair, saying over and over again, "I forgive you, Aurea. I forgive you, and I hope you forgive me. Arceus, I love you, June, and I'm so proud of you for everything that you've done. I love you. Do you know that?"

"Yeah." She sniffled. "And I love you too, dad."

In the moment before the storm, everything was calm. Time was at a standstill. She was oblivious to the frightened screams, to the warnings by the mothers and fathers for their children to run back home, to the squeals and squawks and shrieks of a plethora of beasts as they took on solid form, to the Sage's robes whipping about as a Cofagrigus emerged, shadow arms whirring and clicking like the mandibles of a spider.

She closed her eyes, felt old memories surge in her brain, and pressed her head against her father's chest.

_I'm sorry_, she said.

[\/\/]

The world was burning.

Amidst the rubble and the carnage, two heroes fought on. One was aided by a White Dragon, the other by a Black Dragon. The skies were full of thunder and lightning, and the battle-ravaged plains were smoldering with hungry embers, igniting dry patches of sparse brush before dying down again. The smell of soot, ash, and ozone hung crisp and heavy in the air, exerting their own gravitational pull over the two combatants engaged in combat.

The hero of Truth asked, "Why do you fight? You only delay the inevitable."

The hero of Ideals responded, "As do you, brother."

"I fight for the pure, the just. You would be rash enough to usher in a rule of self-government and selfishness. I seek a union of all nations."

"Never," the hero of Ideals snarled, and his Black Dragon flew forth, cloaked in flickering tendrils of electricity, mouth gaping and tongue bristling and fangs raised. The White Dragon gave an unearthly roar and spat from its fiery maw a stream of brightness as hot as a thousand suns, and when the two energies collided, they gave rise to the Third One. A being of eternal winter, of sleep, of death and rebirth.

The Relinquished Dragon, Kyurem. And as it howled, the whole world turned to ice.

-:-:-

**Here are your giants****  
****Here are your gods****  
****Divine fire to pour from the heavens****  
****And birth the world anew in flames**

-:-:-

[\/\/] (2: Metamorphosis-_The End_) [\/\/]

-:-:-

**CHAPTER 7: Hell **(_White_)

_The Star, the Sun  
Gather and disperse_

Liberty Garden was aflame.

The pier was little more than sticks of charred wood and crumbling ash, the harbor and the waters around it were boiling, and the lush gardens and greenery that surrounded the tower at the island's center were wreathed in fire, the heavy stench of smoke rising up into the sky.

A brilliant inferno bloomed, flames rotating around a central point and shaping themselves into impossible formations. Angels, demons, dragons, and flowers made entirely from the blaze rose and fell, shooting into the water and onto the island's remaining open areas with deadly intent. A phoenix screeched, high and keening, and dove towards a black ship, only to be intercepted by two jets of water that shot from the mouths of a pair of Jellicent. The dual Ghost-Water types hissed, spurting streams of briny liquid at the incoming fiery projectiles, dousing all of them before they had a chance to hit. However, despite their vigilant efforts, parts of the ship were already white-hot and melting, warped by the intensity of the fire and the angered psychic afterthoughts that lingered with each strike.

At the ship's helm, a dark-haired man clad in flowing, Sage-like robes stood, protected by a Mismagius whose steady, muted chanting produced strings of shifting, shimmering lights from its gem-encrusted collar. Lucky Chant, as well as incantations for Light Screen and Reflect. The Ghost served as the ship's main source of defense against the fireballs and shooting-star blasts, generating and reinforcing existing barriers.

The man snarled, "Attack it! Now!" His cohorts, men and women of Team Plasma, gave orders to their Pokemon, and a slew of water-based attacks flew from teeth, throats, and waving hands to splash against the undying fires, putting out only a few of them before the blaze regained its strength.

A Blastoise readied its cannons and, with a guttural roar, sent Hydro Cannons shooting forth at a speed enough to shatter steel and pulverize a grown man into pieces that would make it look like he had been run through a blender. In response, a burning Arbok appeared, snapping ferociously at the jets of water. The first jet tore through its neck, leaving only the head, and before it could be telekinetically restructured, the second jet shot through it and the fire disappeared. Just as quickly, scarlet arrows gunned from the conflagration at gatling-gun velocities. Mismagius, upon a command from its Trainer, countered with a Light Screen, a prismatic wall appearing directly between the ship and the fusillade. The arrows slammed into the barrier, leaving only minor dents.

"Sir!" a grunt called. "It's weakening! Look!"

The dark-haired man spun. Yes, the fires weren't as potent as they had been before. Several fire-creations collapsed, a faint psychic scream resounding in his skull, a telepathic distress call. The entity was losing control of its powers, and subsequently, it was shutting down, its energies having been largely expended during the hour before, fighting him and his crew off.

The Victory Star was dying a series of tiny deaths.

"Professor Triton, what's our next course of action?"

"Continue with your current assault," Triton responded. "Hammer it with everything in our arsenal. Don't stop until it's been sufficiently weakened, and even then be sure to cover ground. We can't risk it having even a single relapse."

The grunt nodded. "Yes, sir."

Triton kept his eyes focused on the massive bonfire, watching with a scientific curiosity as the flames shifted, transformed into a massive hydra whose heat could even be felt from where he stood. Hot wind billowed, and the towering fire-entity surged towards them. As it skimmed over Castelia's oceans, the water hissed and bubbled, evaporating into steam. His team and their Pokemon quickly responded with Water Pulses and Hydro Pumps, as well as Ice Beams and Blizzards, to counteract the fiery deluge. Water streamed in endless currents, but the flames pressed on. The Victory Star was stubborn, that was for sure.

As a scientist, it was Triton's responsibility not to let himself be humbled by even a deity. Respectful of its power, yes, but not fearful. The Sages had tasked him and his crew with the mission of containing the Star, after all, and as one of Plasma's higher-ranking executives, he was determined not to let a mere out-of-control pyrokinetic get the best of him.

Reaching for his belt, he clasped his second Pokeball and a thick, pen-shaped cylinder. Running the device around the Pokeball's equator, he waited until the dial at the back lit up with a brief blue glow before tossing it skyward and releasing his second defender, a Reuniclus.

"Cut off oxygen," he ordered. "Use Psychic and create an air-lock as best as you can. Triangulate the center of the fires and when you detect a Psychic signature, trap it without hesitation. Is that understood?"

Reuniclus gave a nod as best as it could, lifting its thick, gelatine arms and letting out a piercing wail. Mismagius muttered and another wall sprang up, taking the impact of a fiery dragon head before a Surf drowned it out. The shield winked out of existence and Mismagius shuddered as it resumed its chanting. Triton looked upon this with some concern. He had to acknowledge the fact that his team was tiring as well.

His Psychic was deep in calculations, mentally flipping through coordinates on an island-wide scale, connecting points and gauging distances so that when it threw its telekinetic net, all would be well. Reaching a conclusion, the bulbous simulacrum of its body was lit with a bright blue glow, its fingers pulled tightly into fists as its mind reached far, through flames and smoke and the smell of burning things into the heart of it all. Trajectories and dimensions were considered, the very weave of the lock was taken into account, and, at last, Reuniclus sent out a reverberating wave, warping the air and the fire into the blaze's core.

Almost immediately, a psychic whiplash from the receiving end of the attack resounded, a ripple of energy bursting from the inferno, tearing through the waves, and striking the ship's prow before Mismagius could call up a protective field. Triton leapt back, narrowly avoiding destruction by a mere few inches, though his cloak was left in tatters. Where the prow had once been there was now a gaping mess of steel and wood, chunks of debris dripping into the ocean. Reuniclus shivered, its body fluctuating as it attempted to solidify the captive sphere. The entity pushed with a Psychic of its own, and the sphere shattered again.

Growling at the lack of success, Triton drew from his coat pockets an X Special, which he uncapped and dispensed onto Reuniclus' body. As the spray made contact, the Pokemon's soft exoskeletal body turned a brief incandescent white, before subsiding. With renewed vigor, Reuniclus tried again to establish the area of its trap. Currents of scorching heat billowed from the conflagration, the sea bubbled and frothed, and the fire-monsters stood poised for another attack.

"Keep hammering it down!" Triton roared. "Don't give it a single chance to retaliate! Attack with everything you've got!"

Geysers of water erupted from the decks as the grunts' Pokemon fired relentlessly at the flames. Beams of frigid power, chilling windstorms, and whirlpools battered the island's defenses. Great gouts of searing heat shot up to the sky like burning towers, then collapsed. Reuniclus' hold held, even as a deafening telepathic wail boomed inside Triton's skull. His eyes felt like they were about to explode, but he didn't command his Pokemon to stop.

Twin bolts of flame shot from the blaze and struck the ship on the side, tearing gaping openings in the metal, causing the steel to twist and deform. Melted bits dropped into the water, sizzling as they fell. The Victory Star was in its final throes, and it was using every ounce of power it had left to stage a last stand. Triton heard a shriek and saw a volley of lance-shaped beams firing towards them. Mismagius hastily threw up a Light Screen, but the barrier had little effect. The flames tore through the tessellated wall of light, heading on to its designated path with no end in sight.

"Dark Pulse!" he ordered. "Defensive formations, everyone!"

The wraith let out a hissing exhalation, the gems on its neck turning a murky ink-like black as sinister vapors gathered, coalesced, and shot out in rushing blades of dark energy, cleaving pathways through several of the jets and dispersing a few. Three armor-clad Plasma grunts sent out an Eelectross, a Huntail, and a Gorebyss, the trio launching a triangulated assault of Water Pulse attacks. The cerulean orbs expanded miraculously as they came in contact with the fires, dousing many but not all. Four skewered the ship's sails, setting them alight, while one skimmed over the abovedecks before crashing into the ocean. Two grunts screamed as their clothes caught fire.

"You!" Triton growled, pointing at a cluster of grunts. "You, douse the fire! And you," he gestured at another group, "ready for our final assault!"

Abruptly, a bullet of fire struck Reuniclus, slamming the Psychic to the ground. The external simulacrum was bubbling and frothing energetically, and wisps of vapor streamed from its pores. Inside, the tiny figure-the _real _body-was screaming shrilly, stubby arms and legs flailing wildly and its face contorted into a child-like mask of pain. Flames blossomed from its arms, its chest, the ear-like floating antennae encased in the gel. Reuniclus had been burned.

"Shit!" Triton fumbled for a Full Heal, found it, and sprayed its meager remaining contents onto the thrashing Pokemon, quelling its wounds and lulling it into a light drug-induced daze. At the grunts, he yelled, "Attack!"

Rushes of wind, intakes of breath, and sudden chills. A barrage of ice and snow, water and light, descended. Mismagius, humming, whirled and sent out three vaporous black cannonballs, Shadow Balls streaking towards the heat without stopping or pausing. As the attacks connected, pushing apart the flames and putting out the blaze, parts of the tower cracked and crumbled, the blistering temperatures melting even the stone. The ceiling exploded, and from it shot a tiny, diminutive creature, barely a few feet tall but cloaked in a shifting sun-like corona of radiance, of energy.

Victini, the Victory Star, was finally in their sights.

Floating in the air telekinetically, its large, endearing eyes roved across the land and the sea, staring at the burning remains of its former home and prison with mild interest. Its large ears fluttered listlessly, and it gave a tiny, curious chirp as it finally locked eyes with the black ship, the source of its island siege.

Howling in a voice more lupine than belonging to a lagomorph, embers immediately began fastening themselves to its skin, sheathing it in a bizarre flame-armor which quickly expanded and shaped itself into a solid avatar of fire. The tips of its ears burned like pyres, shooting out a steady rain of sparks.

Before it even had a chance to move an inch, it was shot through with a pitch-black ray, then blasted by a full-charge Thunderbolt, the latter turning Triton's vision dazzlingly bright for a scant few seconds as the bolt made contact. The tiny form of Victini was suddenly ensnared in thousands of volts of electricity, its fur singeing and turning a faint ash-grey.

Within seconds, the Legendary began falling to the ground, the last flickering tongues of fire fading into nothingness as the last of its power left. Triton was ready, a unique black-and-white Pokeball wrapped in his fingers. Heaving his arm upwards, he sent the ball flying, and from there it was able to gravitate singularly towards Victini's heat signature and shoot out a beam of red light. The light struck, bonding a special biological marker into the creature's genes, then activating that marker, causing corresponding chemical neuro-pathways to fire, thus pulling apart the Victini atom by atom and dissolving it into a mass of energy. Like a black hole, the energy was then drawn back into the ball, where it hovered for a moment, suspendedby a slight gravitational field, before giving the telltale _click _of a successful capture and returning to Triton's open palm.

Returning his exhaused Mismagius and Reuniclus to their respective Pokeballs, he gently took the orb and examined the dial at the back, which revealed Victini's current state of health. It was weak, but because it was in stasis, it was in no danger of suddenly dying of a brain hemorrhage or some other sort of casualty. However, preparations would need to be made to ensure the proper transport of Victini, with certain care taken in extracting a sample of its power for study.

He stared back at the garden, which was now no more than a dry mound of scorched earth with a single, broken building scattered in bits and pieces all around its perimeter and in the ocean, too. His ship was tattered and broken, and he observed as melted chunks of metal continued to drop from the hull like the human body shedding skin cells.

One Pokemon had done _this_.

As his crew charted a course for their next destination and plan of action, Triton mused that perhaps Ghetsis' idealogies held some truth to them.

A god needed to be tamed, lest it destroy the world.

[. . .]

_As events converge, as the stars allign__  
__The Sapient gather__  
__Metamorphosis draws near_

_Nearly three months into our campaign, _Ghetsis thought, _and all is well._

So much had occurred in the mere three months of Team Plasma's military campaign that he found himself rather suprised that it was all concluding so swiftly. Driftveil, after a rather severe but short-lived battle, was now theirs for the taking, as was Castelia; the insurgency in the industrial sectors had been put down, and now nearly all of the city's populace was complacent enough to allow the changes that would be soon enacted. Opelucid had come quietly after their Gym Leaders were defeated, and Mistralton had already been in their grasp from the start. Professor Fennel had been apprehended with only a brief skirmish to mark their encounter, the battle being instigated by her assistant Amanita. Both were now being housed in a facility in Nimbasa, where they would await further trial, though Ghetsis loathed the prospect of having to sentence any one of them. The two of them were fine women of science and war and each had their own useful talents. He would keep them by his side just as he kept the Shadow Triad and the Seven Sages close. Opportunities should never be wasted, after all. Besides all this, the operation that had been triggered when N defeated Touko White was finally drawing to a close. _Magnificent_.

This game, as it was, was nearing its completion.

The Head Sage sat on a high-backed chair, the folds of his robes pooling about him as he rested his head on his hand and ruminated. Plush blue carpet in royal blue rested directly under his feet and those of the other Sages gathered around him. A buzz of conversation permeated the all but empty chamber, voices reverberating through the grand room that had once been the sight of a spectacular battle. Today, it would serve as their meeting place. A meeting of more than just the Sages, but the Champions of the other regions as well.

Sweeping, soaring arches hung above them, fashioned from marble running rich with swirling veins of gold, bronze, and silver. Curliques as gracefully sloping as the winds were chiseled and etched into every available surface, and massive stone pillars built into the walls helped reinforce the ceiling. Tapestries and banners bearing Team Plasma's sigil were pinned up, the rolls of cloth fluttering gently in a faint breeze. And below them all were vast pools of water that could be as clear as diamond or as dark as night, depending on how you perceived them. Scattered among their surfaces, gusting smoothly about like tiny sailboats, were lotus flowers, each in full bloom and colored a radiant pink. As pink as the iridescent Dream Mist of the Munna and Musharna.

An elaborate communications system had been laid out upon the colossal marble table at the center of the hall. Wires and projectors and computers, all fashioned into a single cohesive unit operating at his sole discretion. Smiling, he imagined that N would be pleased by the complexity and singularity of all the components working together like variables in a formula. Every number had a purpose, as every member of the Plasma Council had their role to play. And they would play it well. Very well, indeed.

Clasping the dragon-shaped handle of his teacup, Ghetsis poured himself a new glass of tea and took a sip. Scaldingly hot, but still pleasant. A rich, fruit-flavored and slightly mineral-tinted tea from Driftveil known as Green Pearl. It was a peculiar brew, but it was vibrant and colorful. The liquid suffused with the Green Pearl leaves first became a rosy pink, then a darker red, and then an almost black cardinal that was almost the same color as fresh blood. 'Green Pearl' was derived from the only conditions in which the tea could be grown-near the sea, where the nutrient-rich waters in Driftveil's coast could lap at the soil and promote growth. In fact, Green Pearl was a mutation, an aberration that would have just been another regular breed of chamomile if not for the sea that altered it and changed it into something more.

The notion was rather amusing. Reminiscent of something else, in fact; however, the thought was trivial and he waved it away to face more pressing matters at hand.

Setting down his cup, Ghetsis turned in his chair to face the quiet young man behind him. "Doctor Colress, I believe that everything is in order?"

Colress was an immaculately dressed man wearing a crisp lab coat and a dark suit underneath, his face framed by thin, wire-rimmed glasses. Curving around a shock of blonde hair was a swirling cowlick dyed a pale blue, which swung around the doctor's head in an orbital shape. The doctor smiled in response to Ghetsis' question, tapping a ballpoint pen absently against a clipboard. "I believe so, sir. When shall we commence?"

"Shortly. Are our guests online?"

Strolling over to a stand on which a sleek laptop sat, black cables connected to the larger cluster of servers atop the table, Colress consulted the charts flashing on his screen. After a quick moment of observation, he answered, "Yes. Champions Lance, Steven, and Cynthia are logged onto the wireless network and awaiting transmission. Champion Wallace also appears to be present. Is that of any concern?"

"Let him join the meeting if he wishes," Ghetsis said, fluttering a hand carelessly. "I'll hold no ill will against him if he does."

Colress gave a terse nod of his head as he seated himself behind his computer and began scrolling through the list of functions, altering settings to disable any outward interference and locking the Champions into their private network. The doctor's fingers flew like Fearow across the keys, writing strings of complex code which even Ghetsis had difficulty deciphering. What he was doing, in essence, was severing the Champions' online connections to their respective regions and making sure their negotiations took place within a sealed area. A sort of designated blank space, to put it in laymen's terms. Satellite signals were meticulously rerouted, government firewalls were bypassed, and the entire process took place in a little under twenty-five minutes. _Prodigious_, a word that had been thrown along too much to be of any significance, could not properly describe the scope of Colress' abilities. The man's understanding of technological laws spanned any number of topics, from programming to hacking past the most secure of systems to access the information hidden behind a slew of anti-Spyware and firewall programs. He was a non-Euclidean entity with a laptop, that's what he was.

And of course, it helped that Colress was in possession of a Rotom. The entity was both electric and spectral in nature, capable of possessing any sort of device and reshaping it into some new, semi-biological creature. Here, it stretched its fibrous tendril-like arms into the mass of wires and plugs and inserted itself into Colress' network, sometimes fizzling and spewing obscure lines of numbers and letters as Colress did his work. As volatile as most Rotom were, this one was unusually well-behaved. It did not laugh, it did not deviate from its task. It only worked.

_Such a methodical little beast_, Ghetsis mused. The Rotom, seemingly telepathic, turned its malicious head in his direction and spat a few sparks out of its mouth. Colress appeared not to notice. Ghetsis grinned and turned away, rising up from his chair to address the other members at the table.

All the Sages looked up in his direction as he began to speak. "My fellow Sages!" Ghetsis boomed, spreading his hands reverently. "After years of careful planning, after but a few scant months into our campaign, Unova is very nearly close to accepting Team Plasma's idealogies and progressing beyond its present, unevolved mindset. Our king will soon be crowned ruler of the region itself!" The Head Sage smiled benignly. "Praise yourselves and this group, this organization, for their combined efforts. The seeds we have so carefully sown are now beginning to bear fruit!"

Polite applause traveled throughout the assembled members, the Sages clapping dutifully at his words. Colress, now finished with his part, called Rotom back to its Pokeball and listened with some amusement.

"We have come far, yes. Our revolution has burst from a single flame into a blazing wildfire. The region now bows to the truth! To _our _truth, to _our _rules. They have acknowledged the power we, as a collective faction, and our Lord N hold! The White Dragon has given these fools illumination in a world filled with darkness.

"But while Unova has learned to accept our presence, the regions beyond may not be as generous. No," he shouted, voice rising, "they spurn our revelations in favor of their old, outdated methodologies and inhumane systems! We are surrounded by corrupt rulers perpetuating this cycle of abuse, this callous way of treating their Pokemon. They are unfit for their roles!"

He banged his fist down hard, the harsh sound echoing and spreading like ripples on a pond. "They are men and women who have yet to see the light! Their leaders are but puppets on strings, manipulated by their own greed and selfishness. They are blind to the reality that our king has seen! That Pokemon are our brethren, and not to be used in these disgusting _battles_, not to win trinkets and allow their masters to attempt or aspire to ascend as gods!

"These ignorant ones have the gall to challenge the king and his prophetic sovereignty. They seek conflict! Battles spanning continets, wars in which they will fight not by their own mettle, but by the strength of their slaves! By the stolen power of their beasts! They would have the nerve, the pride to defy Lord N and the Legendary he is allied with. They would challenge the purity of the Yang, tainting it with their insolence and petulance, blundering in with their clumsy hands and seeking to destroy what we have built up!

"For all that we have created, what our _king _has created, there will be those not enlightened enough to understand the beauty behind our goals. We are creating an oasis, a shrine of sanctity. They are creating destruction. Do you accept their verdict? Do you accept their sadistic societal conformities, their unrighteous acts of violence?"

"Never!" growled Zinzolin, Bronius and Giallo nodding in consent with him.

"Do you wish to see this Eden crumble, defiled by the bitter sins of their self-serving tyrants?"

"Not for the life of me," said Gorm, head bowed, "would I ever wish for our region to revert to what it was before. We have a paradise now; I say that we keep it that way. The opinions of those too unversed to know need not matter." Dulled brown eyes gazed out at the others from under Gorm's white eyebrows. "Lord N is by our side, and his words are true. They are innocent. And they will usher in an age unlike any other. The cancer that brews beyond our borders must be put to an end lest the brutalists undo everything we have worked and toiled at to achieve."

"I concur," said Ryoku, taking a sip from a cup of his own. "Why should we bow to these infidels? They are provoking arguments, seeking fights where there are none to be found. If they should strike us, it is only fair that we strike back in retaliation." He sniffed. "It was not _we _who sought war."

"Such is the nature of our enemies," added Rood. "I side with your decision, Ghetsis. We must not allow ourselves to be intimidated. Instead, we must assert ourselves in the face of tribulation. We cannot let all that we've built be for naught."

"Wise words," murmured Ghetsis. "The rest of you shall side with us?"

A ripple of whispers passed through the table, Sages conferring with each other in quiet mutterings and hushed whispers. The consensus, however, was agreed upon by all members. One by one, each Sage raised their right hand, swearing an oath of allegiance to their plan and voicing their agreement.

The Sage beamed. "As you have decided, it shall be on this day that we will make these Champions a proposition, one they have been badgering us for all these weeks. They will either cease and desist, or..." Ghetsis paused for emphasis before resuming. "...they will face the divine wrath of our king and the White Dragon!"

Cheers erupted from the Sages, and clapping followed as he concluded his brief speech. Ghetsis sat back down and gave Colress a nod. The scientist answered with a nod of his own, entering a series of commands on his laptop. The mass conglomeration of projectors and drives booted up with an audible hum, streaks of blue light illuminating the computerized amalgamation. Information was relayed through wires like thoughts through synapses, chips buzzed, and servers processed every bit of data and converted it into images and sounds. The projectors flashed brightly and sent crystal-clear holograms into the air, transparent screens of light filled with blank silhouettes for the moment as they awaited the Champions to come online.

The buzzing of the machines provided a rather pleasant backdrop, as the lights in the room dimmed and the Sages sat up straighter in their seats. Ghetsis stirred his tea and drank, the flavorful taste of cherries, raspberries, and honey bursting in his mouth. Colress face was lit up by the glow coming from his computer, the lenses of his glasses washed out in cerulean and his eyes impossible to read. A steady sound of keys clicking accompanied the hum as Colress continued to type.

At last, he looked up. "The Champions have logged into the conversation, my Lord."

Ghetsis blinked for only a second, and then they were before him, faces magnified almost grotesquely by the massive holographic frames. Ripples of electrical current occasionally passed through the projections, disturbing the frames just a little and not enough as to warrant any complaining. A brief beep accompanied the appearance of each Champion as they manifested, their faces as universally identifiable here as on any billboard or poster or televised commercial in the regions to which they belonged.

Champions were, in their own right, legends. These were men and women who served as pinnacles, mountains to be overcome with fantastical reputations that invoked a mixture of fear, respect, and admiration. Their battling teams were renowned and studied extensively by those searching for weaknesses and flaws to exploit in League confrontations, and yet, when such an opportunity came, these studious researchers were more often than not trampled underfoot immediately. Because Champions held their titles for a reason; studying up on battle strategy didn't help if your team wasn't strong enough to back up months and months of preparation. These were the warriors who had fought, conquered, and were staples in virtually every household. Champions were near-omniscient beings, to an extent; even after they died or were defeated, their legacies carried on. And the greatest ones lasted forever in the hearts of the people.

To simply state that a Champion was just a poster-boy or a figurehead, however, was a gross understatement. A travesty, the likes of which would be comparable to saying that Arceus was just a Pokemon or that the world was flat. It was just not done. The Champions held positions in their regional governments that reached far into the upper echelons, meeting head-to-head with the presidents and, in certain cases, transcending them, as in national emergencies in which all civilian safety was compromised. They were both diplomats and objects of war; living weapons who commanded unimaginable one-man armies that could hold their own against entire battalions for hours at a time.

_They are also gods_, Ghetsis mused, smiling as the screens flickered and their faces were put on full display. _As is Lord N. Mortals who have transcended society's gravitational pull into mediocrity and risen up to become something...more._

The first was Lance, the only Champion to belong to two regions: Johto and Kanto, respectively. Lance, the Dragon Tamer, the Master of Drakes, and the Terror of Wyrms, among other loftier titles. His face was set in its usual scowl, his jaw clenched and his eyes slanted and cynical. A bright shock of spiky crimson hair topped his skull, and he wore his standard League outfit, replete with cape and all. The tenseness set in his face belied an uneasiness, Ghetsis observed, a hidden urge to leave while he could. No doubt he was feeling a bit unnerved by the conditions of their contact. All Champions were to be sealed in soundproof, unwired rooms that allowed for zero outside parties listening in on their exchanges. A light laugh escaped his lips as he wondered if the famed Dragon Tamer was possibly a claustrophobic.

Directly following lance was Steven Stone, Hoenn's current acting Champion, though everyone was well aware of the constant good-natured power struggles between him and his friend Wallace; the two would often be in and out of the Champion spotlight in such quick cycles that the public had long since ceased to put an end to their perpetual 'wresting-away-of-the-throne' routine. Besides his obvious Champion status, Stone was also an affluent billionaire, philanthropist, minor playboy, and entrepreneur; a man with time and money on his hands and a variety of projects to busy himself in. Wearing a Kantoan Mareep-wool cashmere vest and slacks, as well as his signature metal cuffs, he seemed at ease. His face was open and pleasant, though his eyes were steely and hard.

Then came Wallace, Steven's long-time cohort and a famed Coordinator. A Water-type specialist, Wallace wore his Championship like any other article of clothing; he carried it around with pride in the way that a wealthy socialite might carry around a fat diamond on a ring. There wasn't much to be said about Wallace beyond what had already been said, that he was an eccentric with a flamboyant personality and a flair for putting on excellent shows. He was just as good as Steven in battle, though, if their regular upheavals weren't proof enough. Not a man to be taken likely; someone who could justify being a braggadocio if needed.

And finally, Cynthia of the Sinnohvian League appeared. She of the lustrous blonde hair, Nordic cheekbones, and easy gray eyes; she, the female scholar, who enjoyed researching myths in her spare time and was quite an acclaimed mythologist as well as a paleontologist and biologist. The Umbreon-patterned ornaments she wore in her sizable golden mane clattered together as her face popped up on the screen, though she took no notice of this. Her smile seemed the most genuine out of all the Champions gathered on their network; Cynthia _was _the most diplomatic of the four, after all. Her pacifistic nature came about as a result of the religion she practiced, an old secular theological group that had originated in Celestic Town and then spread to distant Eterna City. More passive than aggressive, some might say. However, the limits of her patience were not to be tested, either. Her Champion status wasn't just for show; if she so wished, she could turn from a chaste woman into a cold huntress in an instant. Because blonde, gray-eyed Cynthia possessed in her team, among others, an impervious Spiritomb, a vicious Garchomp, and even an elusive Togekiss that could wreak havoc on her challengers.

As with Wallace, not someone to be messed with.

Bearing this in mind, Ghetsis, along with the rest of the Sages, rose up upon their appearance and executed light bows.

"Champions," he said, "it is a pleasure to meet you and to converse. I trust that today's session will be beneficial for all of our parties."

"Who are you?" Lance immediately growled. "Where is the Unovan president?"

"Easy, Lance," Steven cautioned. "Let's-"

"I believed I would be entering a private meeting with the president and his cabinet. That was what I assumed when I received the invitation. I do not distinctly remember seeing _you_, or the rest of these people in prior political engagements." The Dragon Tamer's tone was dangerously low.

Ghetsis, sitting back down, gave an apologetic frown. "My apologies if there was some initial confusion. But I'm afraid that the president will be unable to speak with you. That should have been clear enough from the conditions of our meeting, yes?" He took a careful sip of tea and wiped his lips. "After all, do you recall ever participating in a joint discussion sanctioned by our inter-regional governments in which the meeting room was completely severed from the rest of your government networks, thus allowing for no outside disturbances?"

The room was deadly silent for but a few scant moments. Then, Lance spoke again, his tone dropping another octave.

"Who the _hell _am I speaking to?" The Champion's face was livid. "_Who the hell is this_? This is another terrorist cell, isn't it? I swear to Arceus, I will hunt you down, and I will-"

"_Lance_." Cynthia spoke up sharply, interrupting the redhead mid-stride. "Please refrain from making threats against an Unovan-"

"This man is _not _the president, nor is he any sort of government official." Lance's voice was bitter. "Cynthia, we've been duped. These guys-"

"Calm yourself," Wallace snapped. "We were the ones who asked to speak with them in the first place. They gave us a chance, and we took it. Whatever we're in now, it's our own folly." The Hoenn Champion cocked his head lazily to one side, eyeing Ghetsis warily. "Let's hear what it is this man has to say first before we go about instigating a war, okay? That sound good to you?"

Steven gave his friend a look, but conceded. "I agree with Wallace. Hearing him out can't possibly hurt, and it'll be better than just blundering in and starting something before we have a chance to take in all the facts."

Lance would have none of it, however. "Where is the Unovan president, or the vice-president? _What have you done to them_?"

"Lance, _honestly-_"

"No! I came into this thinking I'd be having a chat with a legitimate government official, not this stranger! Arceus, Steven, we don't even know who the hell this person is! Do you really want to do business with someone who we have no background on, who's hiding God-knows-what? _Steven_?"

"I assure you," Ghetsis inteceded, raising his palms up in submission, "I harbor no ill intent towards you or your countries. I only wish for us to discuss what we have come to discuss in a rational and civilized manner." He dropped his hands. "In other words, if you do not harm us, then we will not harm you. It is as simple as that. Will these terms be enough, Champion Lance?"

"Don't condescend to _me_," spat Lance, his teeth gritted.

"I meant no insult."

"Why did you require our meeting to be held in such a closed space?" Cynthia asked, eyes gleaming. "Pardon me, but I detect something rather...suspicious about the entire setup."

Lance glanced at her, his scowl deepening. Ghetsis smiled and said, "Merely a safety precaution. I would rather our meeting go about free of disruptions, you see. All members participating in this network have been shut off from any extraneous networks-for only as long as the meeting lasts. Once it ends, I promise that everything will return to normal. Your regions' security systems will not be compromised."

Cynthia nodded. "And the purpose of this meeting is...?"

"I believe you know the answer to that particular question, Champion Cynthia."

She nodded again, seemingly satisfied with his answer. "Very well, then. Shall we begin introductions?"

"Exchanging pleasantries _now_, Cynthia?" asked Steven. "Is that really necessary?"

"It is the polite thing to do, seeing as we don't know whom we're dealing with," she replied. Ghetsis caught the undercurrent of distrust in her tone and held back a burst of laughter. Cynthia had a way of inserting insults and voicing her suspicions while allowing her words to flow so smoothly that it was all but indiscernible. Chaste she may have been, the woman was excellent at throwing barbs from hidden corners.

"I'll start," said Cynthia, smiling abruptly. "I am Cynthia, current reigning Champion of the Sinnoh League and serving as an envoy to further diplomatic relations between our regions and yours. Pleasure to meet you."

Wallace was next. "Wallace Tiburon, occasional Hoenn Champion and Coordinator. It's also a pleasure, I suppose."

"Steven Stone," Steven continued, adjusting the folds of his red silk necktie. "Acting Hoenn Champion, CEO of Stone Industries, and partner of Silph Co. Salutations."

"Lance," the Dragon Tamer answered reluctantly. "Champion of Kanto and Johto, Dragon specialist. Now," he said, voice harsh, "tell us who _you _are, sir."

"Lance-"

"It is of no importance," said Ghetsis, waving away Cynthia's concerns about etiquette. "I suppose an explanation is under way, anyhow." He coughed politely and answered, "I am Ghetsis Harmonia, functioning as the Head of the Seven Sages, acting advisor to his Majesty Lord N, and a member of Team Plasma. The men you see gathered around me are the other Sages, all of whom also serve in advisory roles and, in certain cases, military positions."

"Team Plasma?" questioned Steven. "Surely that isn't another group of fanatics seeking world domination, is it?"

His tone was light, jesting, but it did not reach his eyes. The blue-haired man was likely recalling the Hoenn Crisis and the rise of Team Magma and Team Aqua. The region had been flooded with storms and the crops had been devastated by severe droughts, both supposedly a negative side effect of the two teams summoning the Ocean God, Kyogre, and the Earth Deity, Groudon. _Acts of god_, it was later claimed, and as such, the region had received little in the way of financial backing after the disasters subsided and the people were left to fend for themselves.

Lance glared, his brows furrowing. He looked as if he, too, was remembering bitter scenes from Team Rocket's brief but brutal occupation in Kanto.

"Nothing of the sort," Ghetsis assured him. "Team Plasma is-_was, really_-an idependent organization founded by myself and the other Sages. Our motivations are the liberation of Pokemon from those who would abuse them carelessly and without remorse. This is a category that extends not only to the most ruthless of abusers, but even regular Trainers and those that trap Pokemon in Pokeballs." He paused briefly. "You see, the entire battling system, the idea that you can imprison another living, _sentient _being in tiny plastic prisons...that is an abhorrent concept. Both to myself, and to my king."

The Champions stared at him in uncomprehension. Pity. Had he not gotten his message across clearly enough?

"Prisons?" Wallace asked, rolling the word on his tongue like he wasn't sure of what he was saying. "You think that Pokeballs are a form of imprisonment?"

"This is ridiculous," Lance protested. "What kind of delusional ideas are you people dreaming up, anyway?"

"I would like to ask you the same question," said Gorm, drawing an angry glance from the redhead. "What delusional ideas have you allowed yourself to believe to justify the enslavement of an entire species? The fact is, the League system is a corrupt practice, with each generation only adding to this relentless spread of inhumane brutality because no one has yet dared to speak out. How does it feel, do you think, for a Pokemon to be captured and stored in tiny holding cells until you, their master, feel compelled to let them out?"

"Are you challenging the League system? It's allowed each region to run without a hitch for years; I think it's a good one, if you ask me," said Steven.

"It is a system fueled by violence and cruelty. Cruelty to beings who, in our hands, lose a significant quota of their true potential. Tell me, why were Pokeballs manufactured with limiters in the first place? As a means of restraint, domination, and control. Because if they were left to run free, Pokemon, with their unique gifts, would be able to outpace humanity in given time."

"Limiters," Wallace mused. "You know about them?"

"We have an _understanding_," said Zinzolin. The elderly, white-haired Sage got up and swept a hand through the air. "The algorithms programmed into it are surprisingly simple. Whenever a Pokemon is captured, it is converted into Pokenergy, a sort of compressed state in which the Pokemon's atoms are split and then condensed into light particles. The limiters reduce the energy output of the Pokemon stored inside by siphoning some of that energy and allowing it to disperse into the air. In doing so, the Pokemon remain docile, and Trainers gain an upper hand." He grinned, flashing white teeth. "An ugly truth, but this energy siphoning process can be considered a form of technology-based vampirism, feeding directly off of the Pokemon's health only to curb its powers and turn it into a housepet. All for the purpose of a few grandiose cockfights." He shook his head. "What a primitive way of thinking, and an even more primitive usage of tech. A pity."

"Vampirism is too bold of a word for it," Cynthia said. Her gray irises were full of concern. "And what are you saying? That Pokemon are captured against their will? The bond between a Trainer and Pokemon is important, transcending other bonds of a metaphysical level. It's not slavery. People and Pokemon work in unison, all striving towards the same goal. Battling isn't brutality. It's a way for them to deepen that relationship, that bond, and to get stronger."

"It is enslavement," interrupted Giallo, getting up as well. Cynthia stared balefully at him, but he went on, "For ages, Pokemon have been forced into capsules and made to battle for the amusement of the masses. This cycle can go on no further. It is an unacceptable form of manipulation, a perversion of the laws of life that they should be turned into weapons to be used and tossed away without a thought."

"They aren't weapons," Lance snarled. "You're deluded; fanatics, the lot of you."

"We are the enlightened ones, the _Sapientia_," said Bronius, rising along with Giallo. "We and many others have seen the darkness lurking underneath this system, proliferating the minds of the young and inculcating them with your outdated ideas. It is Team Plasma that has glimpsed the light, and it is Team Plasma who will bring about an age of illumination."

"Madness," said Wallace, leaning back in his chair. He shook his head almost sorrowfully. "If you think this, you're mad. You've only seen the villains, but not the heroes. You don't fully understand."

"We understand only _too _well, as does our king. It will be him who shall stand at the forefront of our movement, he who will change the region. Our world." Ghetsis allowed a smile to cross his face. "In fact, he already has."

"A monarchy?" questioned Steven, incredulous. "You're calling our system outdated, when you still remain subservient to kings and queens?"

"Our king is, among other titles, the Champion of the Unova region."

Stunned silence from those assembled. Even Cynthia's eyebrows were raised, her mouth open in surprise.

"That's a lie!" shouted Lance, his voice crackling painfully with static. "Champion Alder has no ties with any independent, terrorism-based organization of any sort-"

"Alder is no longer the Champion."

"_WHAT_?!" Lance spluttered, looking outraged. "That's impossible. Alder would never lose to the man you claim to be king."

"Oh, but Alder has." Lazily, he inspected the curvature of the projectors rising high into the air, at the tangles of wires and sleek metal casing that enfolded it all like skin. "He was dethroned three months ago, at the hand of Lord N and the Yang dragon Reshiram. As such, Alder no longer holds any power and has been rendered an ordinary Trainer, albeit a slightly stronger one than most." He gave another cough. "Years of misery, of aimless wandering dulled his instincts, it seems. In the end, Lord N was victorious."

"The Yang dragon?" Cynthia gasped. "But if that's so-"

"It has allied itself with our king. The holy incarnation of fire rests on our side."

"And you still have the nerve to spew your dogma at us?" snapped Lance. "Your king is just as guilty of this so-called 'Pokemon slavery' if he's captured a Legendary-"

"That would be where you are mistaken, Champion Lance." Ghetsis' eyes were cold. "He has not, in fact, captured Reshiram. Not by standard definitions, anyway. The dragon itself has chosen to become his partner. It is, in essence, free. Lord N does not chain it inside a Pokeball; it is allowed to roam freely as it pleases."

"You expect us to believe that a _god _has chosen, of its own accord, to side with some human?" Steven was incredulous. "That's...ludicrous. Unbelievable."

"Perhaps not entirely so," murmured Cynthia, reflecting. "I remember now...something I read once, long ago. The Yang Dragon, Reshiram, and the Yin Dragon, Zekrom, both embodied aspects that were in opposition with each other. Ideals and truth. The god of fire and the god of lightning. They each alligned themselves with a hero, and the chosen hero would act as a proxy for their particular god, speaking on their behalf and championing what they believed most strongly in."

"Myth and superstition," said Wallace, though his eyes glimmered with-belief? Acceptance? Despair? It was difficult to tell on the blue-hologram displays, his emotions masked amidst the wavering lines of light.

"I think some of us, among this gathering, can attest to the fact that myths and superstition do hold some merit," Cynthia remarked, her gray-eyed gaze traveling languidly and somewhat accusedly to her right, where she could see Wallace's screen. The Coordinator returned it with a stare of his own, feigning apathy when really, there was a part of him that believed it himself and saw the truth.

Team Galactic and the bizarre, unexplained spatial and temporal anomalies over Sinnoh. Team Magma and Aqua and clashing attempts at terraforming that nearly annihilated Hoenn. They remembered, and remembered well.

"But going on," Cynthia interrupted, snapping them all out of their separate trains of thought, "Reshiram has an other, a black to complement and cancel out its white. I recall there being clashes between the heroes, wars as each side sought to attain dominance in the aspect they represented." She stared out silently at the Sages and Ghetsis, those gray-flecked eyes barely blinking. "Where is the Yin Dragon, Zekrom? If Reshiram has awakened, as you say, then it's other should have done the same."

"Duality," Steven murmured. "The nature of the gods. Two to oppose, two to defend, and two to negate."

"Exactly," affirmed Cynthia, nodding. "So, if I may ask, where is Reshiram's counterpart? The Black Dragon?"

Ryoku spoke up. "Champion Cynthia, I trust you are familiar with the rest of the myth? That, after a final, deciding battle between the heroes, the dragons were sealed and transformed into orbs lest more heroes rise and seek them out?"

"That I am. The orbs were hidden, weren't they? Only your leader-this _Lord N-_managed to find the orb containing Reshiram's essence."

"Following the transfiguration, the orbs were indeed sheltered from society. One, the one in which Reshiram was housed, was hidden in the desert, in an ancient, crumbling castle that served as the last remains of an old civilization. The other, holding the essence of Zekrom, was dug up at an archaelogical dig and dismissed as nothing but an odd artifact. It was subsequently housed at a museum in Nacrene City."

"What happened to it?"

"Is the answer not clear enough?" inquired Giallo, clasping his hands together. "Just as Reshiram found its hero, Zekrom found a champion of its own."

"This champion-"

"A girl. An ordinary child by any means, though considering the fact that a god chose her, out of untold thousands, she can be correctly described as a prodigy." Giallo gave Cynthia a knowing look. "If I recall, there was a girl named Dawn a few years back who resolved a certain incident you and the Sinnohvian government were unable to deal with. The Galactic Crisis of-"

"You're veering off on a tangent," said the blonde Champion pleasantly, though her features had become harder, more rigid.

"I do digress, and for that, I apologize. Zekrom's hero was a girl named Touko White, born in a nondescript suburb within Nuvema Town. At the age of fifteen, she started out on her journey, and over the course of several months manage to come into contact with the Dark Stone twice, both times occurring at the Nacrene Archaelogical Museum. Curator Lenora allowed her to possess the stone solely for the purpose of the forthcoming duel between our king and the opposing hero."

"And she lost?"

"Yes." Bronius stared at the Champions languidly, with the measured grace of a man who is secure in his power and his wealth. Idly, he stirred his cup of tea with silver spoon, tapping it against the plate underneath to shake off clinging droplets. "Is this so hard to believe? Lord N was chosen by Reshiram and emerged as the victor because the strength of his convictions were clearly much stronger than those of his opposer, Touko. In all the previous millennia during which the dragons and their heroes battled, neither side was able to overcome the other because both were equally dedicated to their causes. This time, however, it seems that one participant just didn't quite believe strongly enough."

"Simple logic," murmured Wallace, smiling a chilling grin. He rested his chin on the palm of his hand, staring through the screen thoughtfully. "Yet, this N character of yours..."

"_Lord _N."

"Forgive me if I'm not feeling particularly inclined to address him by that title," Wallace snapped, finally beginning to lose his composure. "I have yet to meet the man in person, and I have yet to even see him face-to-face. Instead, I must be forced to go through you lot, calling yourselves the Seven Sages and speaking about change and gods allying themselves with humans. Do you know what I think of your Lord N? I think he's a villain, plain as that." With that declaration, Wallace leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head and reclining on his chair.

"And I'd thought we were long past the days of hierarchies and royalty," said Steven.

"A symbolic system," Ghetsis answered suavely, smiling. "In the same way that your League continues upward from inexperienced, fledgling Trainers to the Champion himself, Team Plasma operates in a similar fashion. Though, I'm afraid there will be no Unova League present in the future." He opened a lazy scarlet eye and stared at the Hoennian business mogul. "It will be dismantled."

This drew from the Champions an uproar, primarily from Lance but resonating with the other members as well. Cynthia sat completely still, her back rigid, while Steven and Wallace bickered to be heard over each other. Lance fumed, his eyes narrowed to deadly slants, glowering at the Head Sage with clear venom.

"_What_?" he snarled. "Impossible and ludicrous. The likes of you people simply _cannot _destroy an age-old, tested-"

"Old it is indeed," noted Rood. "Old, outdated, and barbaric. A remnant of more uncivilized times, when man still lived in caves and the only way to establish dominance was through constant battle. This is a war, gentleman and madam. A war within your borders, spread to your children through ruthless indoctrination and perpetrated by your politicians but most importantly, your battlers. The Gym Leaders, the Elite Four, the Frontier Brains, and yourselves."

"What is your point?" Cynthia inquired, resting her head on her slim, white-skinned hands and staring at the screen with an expression of cold yet logical thought, as though she were scrolling through a vast list of negotiating possibilities. "That the League system is unnecessary? It has helped us for years. It has sustained us, and has given our societies a basis on which to fall back on." She shook her head, a bit ruefully. "I do not believe that we harm Pokemon during battles. Battles, they are a way to bond, a way to express emotion through the camaraderie of battle. Man and beast are united forever in this purpose."

"The beast has no choice," Rood replied. "Imprisoned, subjugated, and at the mercy of the trainer, it can only fight. That, or participate in one of those lavish pageants of debauchery, the Contests. Pokemon are humiliated daily in these televised cockfights, beaten and worn down by their own kind, forced into conflict when there should be none. There is no unity except that the cold connection between master and slave."

"You want to undo the League system?" muttered Steven. "Preposterous. None of you hold any ties to the League, as far as I know, and I'm quite certain that should you attempt to take the League by lethal force... the Elite Four would be more than happy to restrain you. That, and a platoon of Ace Trainers ready to drop in at a moment's notice." The Hoenn Champion drummed his fingers. "Gentleman, I do believe that you are underestimating Unova's defensive and _offensive _capabilities when provoked."

Ghetsis smiled lightly. "Pardon me for this, Champion Steven, but that would be incorrect. It would be _you _who is understimating _us_. We've already taken the League."

The table was deadly quiet. A hush fell over the Champions, while the Sages waited patiently and Ghetsis continued smiling as though nothing had happened. A bomb had just been dropped.

"Are you joking?" Steven asked, his voice whisper-soft and tenuous. "_Are you joking, _gentlemen, because I assure you that this is nothing to joke about."

"And I would agree with you on that particular statement," Ghetsis answered. "This is no laughing matter. I do not jest when I say the League is already under our control, nor do I jest when I say that Champion Alder is indisposed at the moment, nor do I jest when I say that Lord N is the new reigning Unovan Champion, and as such, he is entitled to bearing the mantle of the Champion and using the various political powers gifted to him by this position."

"You're screwing with us. You must be." Wallace was disbelieving, fidgeting with the brim of his cap. "You couldn't have done it, you don't have the manpower, the League was _heavily fortified with hundreds of cameras and security personnel, _for Arceus' sake!"

"Would you like to see the pictures?" Ghetsis snapped his fingers, and Colress typed in a series of commands, calling up a visual image that filled the conference screens with a rendered shot of the League Building, massive and domed where the Champion's room was, and the Plasma Castle right behind it, numerous sleek black tunnels erupting from seemingly solid facets and stabbing into the arena like arrows piercing flesh. The desert landscape had been completely blacked out for the sake of confidentiality, but the damage was visible and visceral. They could all hear as the Champions had a collective intake of breath at the sight, at the scene projected for their eyes to watch and bear witness to.

Cynthia was the first to turn away, the image on her screen fading away as she glared at them, her eyes icy. "This is genuine?"

"Indeed."

"The rules you have violated... the regional sanctions enabling our interference will be swift and just, you understand." The blonde Champion had no warmth in her gaze at all now. "By these actions, you are essentially declaring war, Ghetsis. I hope you understand this."

"You have no authority in dismantling the League," snapped Wallace, angry. "Your attack was unprovoked and will be treated as an act of terrorism. InterPol will be on you, and when they get your sorry asses, there won't be any escape." There was something almost devilish in the way he grinned at them. "You'll be locked up without any chance for bail."

"Are you quite sure of the solidity of your clauses?"

"What are you implying?" asked Steven. "Please cut to the chase soon, because I'm getting rather tired of this drivel."

"As am I!" barked Lance. "This has gone on for long enough. The man is obviously a lunatic, and I vote that we should end this conversation and deploy InterPol immediately-"

"Unfortunately, you can't, Champion Lance." Furious at Ghetsis' interruption, the redheaded man began to utter a scathing retort, but the Head Sage went on, "As far as I understand it, InterPol is a Sinnohvian-headed organization, and therefore only Sinnoh's Champion has the proper authority to call upon its services at a whim. Isn't that so, Champion Cynthia?"

"I would hardly call this a _whim_," she said. "And, according to Clause 1 of the Rules and Regulations for the Internation Police Force, the services of InterPol can be summoned by the Champions of those regions falling under the Inter-Regional Treatise, therefore allowing Lance to activate InterPol and send it to Unova immediately as long as he, Steven, and/or Wallace are in agreement about the necessity of the such a summoning." She tucked a strand of stray blonde hair behind her ear. "I believe they agree with each other, don't you, Lance?"

"I think we're all _very _much in agreement," Wallace said.

"I, for one, certainly am," added Steven.

"So what will it be?" Cynthia asked, tilting her head to one side quizzically, her posture begging, almost _daring_ for a challenge. "You have nowhere left to run. In minutes, if I so choose, I can mobilize an entire squad of InterPol agents who will be able to lock onto your coordinates in under a day, from which they will then be able to track you down wherever you go and detain you for trial. _If _you are lucky enough, that is."

"Oh?"

"Under the Cyrus Legislation, if your actions are considered dangerous enough to warrant much more severe attention, Kanto, Sinnoh, Johto, and Hoenn, as well as any smaller political divisions associated with any of them, we have full authority to jail you without right to fair trial on the grounds that you are a threat to society and highly unstable. Should we take it a step further, execution may even be considered a viable solution."

Ghetis laughed out loud. "Whatever happened to the concept of democracy, Cynthia?" he questioned, purposefully dropping her title. "Even Team Rocket was put in front of a jury before they were whisked away to prison. We're not here to make trouble for you, no. We are simply here to provide enlightenment to the undeducated masses. We are _liberating _the common man from his societally-ingrained stupidity! All we ask for is that we be allowed to dabble in our own internal affairs, and that you keep your hands away from Unova."

"I'm afraid I can't grant that request," said Steven. "Nor can the rest of us. It's a matter of precaution, you understand. After the Galactic crisis and the events with Team Magma and Aqua..." He waved a hand dismissively. "Security must be upheld. Laws must be upheld. We cannot, and will not tolerate terrorism."

"Ah. I understand." Ghetsis gave a small nod of his head. "You feel incompetent. You feel that you failed to act during the Hoenn crisis, instead leaving the situation there to your co-Champion Wallace," he indicated Wallace with a gesture, "and now that you have been presented the opportunity to deal with a similarly challenging case, you feel the need to react decisively."

Steven remained calm, though his features shifted blackly, horribly under the calm mask he wore. His eyes glittered with some dark emotion. "Goading us. How low. How very _criminal_."

"Make of it what you will. But, you do intend to go through with this?"

"You think we aren't serious?"

"I am simply asking for confirmation. You are about to cross a rubicon. Make sure the bridge is steady before you take your first step." Peering over the rim of his teacup, he said, "There will be major repercussions."

Now, it was Steven's turn to laugh. "_You're _warning us about repercussions? Bold words, but they're hollow. You'd do well to know about the extensive reach of InterPol before _you _about making rash decisions. Black ops, proxies, and more. We can level this operation, burning it to the ground, and you and all your associates will perish."

"You can try," Ghetsis smirked, "but, _as the Yang Dragon breathes flame and cleanses the impurities from the land, so too shall its followers be cloaked in heavenly fire, shielded from all devastation while its enemies are reduced to nothing but ash. So it is written_."

"The Goetic Scriptures of the Lesser Key of Salaiman," Cynthia quoted.

"Impressive," observed Ghetsis. "Verse 170. You've studied Unovan lore?"

"I have." The Champion's eyes did not flicker away. "And in every legend, the unjust who attempt to serve as voices for the god are dealt swift and merciless justice."

"I speak not for the gods, but for my king, who has allied with a god. If there is anyone you should fear, it is Lord N and the Great White coming to lay waste to you."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Perhaps I am."

"Then that'll be enough." Lance was enraged, veins pulsing dully in his neck. "InterPol will be here to arrest you within the end of today, and I don't think they'll be especially kind about it, either."

"You are declaring war, then."

"The war already started when you first spoke up," Lance growled. "This entire conversation has been meaningless deliberation. You're a psychopath, _Ghetsis_. Like all psychopaths, you'll be locked up in due time."

The Sage only nodded benevolently, apparently uncaring to Lance's words. "Before you finalize your choice-"

"It's already been done."

"-let me inform you of something quite important. I think it will change your minds, Champions, or at least sway your votes otherwise."

"We're done talking," snapped Lance. "Now, shut up and-"

"Should you attempt to invade Unova with InterPol or any other means, aggressive or diplomatic, should you even _enter _our borders, we will be forced to regard this as an unwaranted intrusion and will respond in kind."

"What are you blathering on about?"

"I'm blathering, Champion Lance, about the fact that we can, and we _will_, instigate a full-on, coordinated nuclear strike on your respective regions. If you follow through with this war, that is."

Utter and complete lack of sound.

If Ghetsis' hadn't managed to surprise them before, then this had done its trick. Nuclear war. The words hovered in the air like the blade of a guillotine, ready to drop when someone next spoke. Or perhaps maybe they had. That would explain why the Champions suddenly appeared as tongue-tied as a group of fools missing the aforementioned appendages. Lance, it seemed, had turned a shade redder than before, and his fury was terrible and burning and palpable, even though they were separated from each other by oceans. Steven and Wallace looked on in shellshocked absentmindedness, like they couldn't believe what they were hearing. And in Cynthia, cold fury rose up and hardened her already sharp Sinnohvian features into a steely mask of rigidity.

"What you are saying is very... daring. If you really are planning to go through with this-no, that is irrelevant." She looked flabbergasted. "By even making such a threat, you have already crossed the line. InterPol will respond instantly to these claims, you realize. Nuclear war... why would you even suggest such a thing?"

"In the end, you're just like Cyrus, or Giovanni," murmured Steven. "You really _are_ a lunatic."

"Is this lunacy? Or simply a countermeasure to the threats posed by yourselves?" questioned Ghetsis. "Think of it not as war, but rather a purge of rather unsavory individuals. One rotten apple spoils the bunch, after all."

"A purge? Like a crusade? There is not even a trace of similarity between the two causes." Cynthia was enraged. "You are a sick, terrible man for posing such a threat, whether in theory or not."

"I am simply making a decision based on the choices you have given me," Ghetsis responded. "And you have given me very few except to intervene in such a drastic way. For that, I apologize."

"Don't. It couldn't possibly be sincere," Cynthia spat.

"You're going to kill millions of people!" Steven protested. "Ecosystems will wither and never live for centuries; millennia, even. You're willing to trigger a nuclear genocide just to prove a point?"

"No. I'm willing to trigger nuclear genocide if you don't retract your own threats by the end of our conversation and promise not to interfere anymore in Unova's personal matters. Basically, take your grubby fingers out of our pies. Do this, and we will respect your privacy. Disrespect the authority of the Unovan government, and we will react. And our reaction, I think, will not be especially favorable for any of you. Or the people you're supposed to protect."

"Unovan government?" Lance scoffed. "What this is is a coup d'etat. A dictatorship."

Ghetsis gave Lance the faintest trace of a sneer. "This will be even bigger than the Project Genesis crisis, I assure you. This time, the danger will not be as easy to cover up."

Lance blanched. "How the hell did you-"

"That is inconsequential. What does matter is your vow of withdrawal. You will rescind your orders to the InterPol if you already have, are, or were planning to give them instructions, as well as any other bodies or organizations or people who would wish to stick their heads in where it is not needed. You will no longer conference with us, attempt to contact us, or enter any regional landmass within Unovan territory or control unless by our authorization, during which we will contact _you_, and not the other way around. You will not attempt to deploy anyone or anything after us, nor attempt to lock onto our whereabouts. We'll find out if you do. Furthermore, your governments will not meet or secretly convene to discuss tactical measures against our regime, nor will any citizens be allowed to gather in such a manner. Any attempts to re-negotiate the terms of our agreement today will be met with a hostile response. And, any rule-breaking of the conditions I've listed will result in... well, I'm sure you can already envision the consequences."

"You really _are_ a bunch of terrorists."

"What I am should not be important to dither over. Consider us an extremist Pokemon libertarian faction, if you wish." Ghetsis grinned like a Sharpedo. "The facts remain. You will uphold all the conditional statements I have just presented you with, Champions. Otherwise, a response from our side will be coming for you. Move a piece on the chessboard, and we will intercept it. Make no mistake of this."

Scowling, Lance gritted out, "We don't negotiate with criminals, nor do we take commands from them. Everything you've just said is illegal and holds no legitimate power. You're shitting empty words through your ass."

"Really? Need I remind you that by becoming Champion, Lord N has obtained the political gravity of all those in possession of Champion status, and thus, he has full right to dissolve the Unovan Pokemon League with the majority votes of the entire Unovan senatorial house? Whatever ties the League here had to the League system proliferated throughout the other regions, those links exist no more. Unova has severed itself from the regional treaties and may now be considered an independent nation."

"So, your threats are utterly invalid."

"Not so. It is within the rights of any nation, independent or otherwise, to reserve the right to respond to any threat of war with a threat of their own. The last I checked, it was you and your Champions who shot first, preparing to send InterPol into Unovan territory. I'd say a similar threat of our own should hold some bearing, should it not?"

"You... fucking..." But it seemed that Lance could not think of anything else to say. Nor could his colleagues.

"The League will be dissolved, of that I can promise. Unova will operate separately from now on. You no longer have a say in this matter. I'd suggest you leave now before I decide to proceed with the purge. This conversation is over."

The Dragon Master would no be placated. "Mark my words, you may have won for now, but _we will find you_. We _will _take you and your entire sect down. Fuck the treaties and clauses. This can't go on." He glared, nostrils flaring like a Charizard. "Perhaps not tomorrow, perhaps not for years, but you _will _fall, Ghetsis."

The Head Sage smirked. "And I, for one, shall be looking forward to the day when you decide to do just that, Champion Lance."

One by one, the screens clicked off, fading into blackness.

[. . .]

_Now, after an era of darkness__  
__The sun finally rises__  
__The herald to a new dawn and a new age of truth__  
__All hail the king who baptises millions in the fires of reckoning__  
__All hail N Harmonia_

She was sitting in a new room, devoid of furniture except for a scattering of chairs and a mirror. There were tears running down her cheeks as she slipped on the outfit her handmaidens (appointed to her by N following their discussion) had prepared for her. Her fingernails, which had been meticulously restored from their previous chipped, dirt-encrusted state to pearlescent, jewel-like things, dug into the soft flesh of her palm as laced up the front of the dress. It was as black as night and adorned with fake ash-gray feathers that were soft but messy, though the material itself was as smooth as leather. An elaborate array of cloth-woven white roses wound from her breasts down to her midsection and served as a flash of contrasting color against the darkness of her gown, a stylistic choice that she suspected was made on N's part. She still remembered the garden a week later, its cloying scents of growth, death, and rebirth suspended in the simulacrum of her mind. When she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the daisies, tulips, orchids, and sunflowers growing in tandem and dying in tandem. There was something symbolic about the entire affair: the garden, her dress, the ceremonies sure to follow, but then again, N had always been one for ceremony. This she remembered clearly from the rising of the castle.

_Pillars and bastions bursting from the earth like some great chthonian monstrosity; ladders shooting forth from hidden doorways and stabbing into the League building, inches away from bisecting Alder; the unmistakable energy of Reshiram leaking through the Pokeball and pervading the air_

_and a challenge for her to come after him, like it was a game of hide-and-seek_

_canals filled with water running blue_

Deep. Breaths.

Inhale. Exhale.

The motions should have been perfectly familiar to her, but the images, startling and jumbled and blindingly bright, seemed to sap what was left of her motor control, and even the simplest of actions like breathing, like _filling her lungs with oxygen _and then exhaling carbon dioxide became difficult. She forced herself to draw in air, then release the excess, her throat shuddering like an accordion. After the accident, breathing was harder.

With shaking, jittery fingers, she attempted to apply the beginnings of her make-up, but her hands were jittering too much for her to get a proper grasp on anything and, with a sudden jerk to the right, she sent a canister filled with blush tumbling off a small metal shelf moved to her room for the express purpose of make-up application and onto the floor, where it spilled out its powdered contents onto the tiles emulating the sky in their plasticine, transparent way.

Behind her, Anthea arose and carefully picked up the fallen jar, mopping away the spilled powder with a damp cloth and setting the canister back onto the shelf's surface. Dabbing a small amount onto a small brush, she tilted Touko's head towards her face and began dusting on the blush with little, precise movements. In minutes, her cheeks began to take on a healthy pink tinge that was at odds with the rest of her skin; once brown and suntanned, now pale and snow-white.

"Is this alright?" she asked, turning Touko back around to look in the mirror. When the brunette gave a small nod of her head, Anthea turned her back around and began applying eyeliner, then smoky black eye shadow with some silver accentuations. It gave her eyes a vaguely slanted look and brought out her brown irises even more. Against the shadow framing her lashes, her pupils looked like tiny new moons.

Next, with deft, spidery fingers, Anthea opened the tiny black patent-leather suitcase, unlocking the clasp to reveal a set of elaborate hair ornaments brought out specially for this occasion. The ornaments came in various fitted pieces, adorned with delicate shards of murky obsidian and crimson garnet. Carefully, Anthea began to braid Touko's hair, tying it in looping strands and rope-like circles, then started threading the ornaments in, taking caution so as not to prick her scalp by accident and draw blood. All the while, the girl sat soundlessly, unmoving, rubbing circles on her palms and avoiding gnawing on her cuticles.

"You look beautiful," Anthea murmured, watching as Touko examined her reflection. The girl pictured was so different from the one before, all ash and soot and elegant lines. A pretty doll.

"Do I?"

"Yes," the pink-haired woman replied. "You're a princess, after all. Royalty now."

"I'm not a princess. I'm a small-town girl."

"That was before. This is after." Anthea clasped Touko's hands in her own and gazed into the Touko's eyes, her expression caring while Touko's was inscrutable. "The purge of the League system is already underway. Lord N has graciously taken you under his wing, sparing you from the destruction. You are protected. You are loved."

"By whom?"

"Lord N. And Concordia and myself." Gently, the attendant placed a delicate, chaste kiss on each of Touko's fingertips. "Whoever our king loves we shall love also, his followers."

Touko shook her head, the array of ornaments tinkling like bells with the movement. "You shouldn't love me. I... I once fought against you, tried to take you all down, or don't you remember?"

"It is better to leave the past in the past. Dwelling too much on the things of old inevitably leads to a decay in our own methods and temperaments." Adjusting part of Touko's crown, she added, "What matters is that you are here with us in this moment of triumph, and that you will be accepted. As our king wills it, so it will be done."

Anthea rose and executed a light bow. "I will be outside if you need further assistance." The woman walked to the door, opened it, and stepped out, closing and locking it shut behind her. Touko could hear the turning of the deadbolts and gave a sigh. Even here, as the ceremony was only hours away from starting, they didn't trust her completely.

She was cold. And hungry. Her ribs were starting to protrude through her skin, her arms thin but going on skeletal and the planes of her face becoming sleeker and sharper. She looked wolfish, this new Touko; wolfish and hunted and haunted. There was a cut on her wrist, and she chipped at it absently, not caring that dried, clotted blood got under her fingernails. As she continued scratching, blood began to flow freely from the wound, dripping onto the floor.

"Shit," she muttered, taking a tissue and dabbing at the gash, soaking up the meager red trickle. Her fingers were stained carmine, and she took another tissue and wiped off the scarlet patches, tossing both tissues in a wastebasket. She was aware that she was trembling, as though she had a bad fever. Her bones were rattling against each other.

"Stop it," she whispered. "I'm fine, it's all fine. Stop this. Now."

Without any warning, she knocked a dish full of make-up brushes off the stand. They clattered onto the ground, rolling every which way, and she cursed her own lack of dexterity.

"Miss Touko-" Anthea began, but Touko stopped her short with a hastily yelled, "It's alright!" as she proceeded to pick up the brushes, her fingers still nervous. Every time she stopped to pick one of them up, she would only succeed in knocking it further away.

"Damn it."

Scrabbling on the tiles with her bloody skin, bloody nails, and her dress puddled around her and collecting an insubstantial but surely existent amount of grit, she felt her frustration rise as her anxiety grew in tandem, until she was clawing at the floor like a fox, the make-up brushes long forgotten.

Behind her, there was a soft click as the deadbolts disengaged, a whispered word of deference by Anthea, and then the door swung open, thick, red mahogany opening and closing in a heartbeat and the scent of cologne pervading the air. She smelled fresh mint, anise, and cloves, as well as other unidentifiable spices mixed into the heady olfactory brew. A faint, almost inaudible hiss of breath, an exhalation. And then a voice, rippling like water.

"What in the world are you doing on your hands and knees, Touko?" N asked, the barest purr to the question. Immediately, Touko stiffened and stood up, hastily covering the wound with one hand and trying to be discreet about the gesture as possible.

"Hello, N," she tentatively replied. "I... I dropped something on the floor, and I was trying to pick it up."

Behind him, something shimmered, a faint warp and weft in an otherwise unoccupied space- or so she thought. N's Zoroark, enigmatic and elusive as ever, seemed to slip soundlessly from the shadows. It had, quite literally, camouflaged itself so well that it became a pseudo-chameleon, capable of effortlessly blending in with its surroundings. She hadn't noticed it before; had it only just entered the room with N, or had it been in here all along, assigned as as invisible, lethal watchdog in case she made some rash decision? It must have been N's doing, or, most likely, an executive action put forth by the Sages. Probably Ghetsis. With the ceremony drawing closer and closer, he wouldn't have wanted Plasma's new princess to hurt herself or others whilst trying to break the bars of her cage.

She shivered as the wolf prowled, circling around N's feet, its thick black mane looking like a cloak, before settling down onto its haunches and eyeing her warily. When she moved forward, it gave a low growl, the barest wisps of dark energy coalescing around its fanged jaws before the king gave an order and it quieted.

Stooping down, N picked up the brush and set it down on the stand, then took her trembling hands in his own steady ones. "You're shaking," he muttered, saying it like it was a question rather than an observation. "Are you ill?"

"No. N-no, I'm not sick or anything. I'm just out of it a little is all."

Before she could stop him, he had grabbed her by the wrists and was peering intently into her eyes, studying her with an intense curiosity that gave her the feeling of being a lab specimen. Up close, she could smell him-minty, almost herbal-and see that his irises were almost solid blue, save for a few flecks of emerald. Instead of looking into reflections of the earth, she felt like she was staring into a post-apocalyptic version of the world, where the seas had risen and land was scarce. Like a novel by H.P. Lovecraft where an Old God rose and drowned the planet. She remembered their meeting in the garden, but she could not quite recall what had happened in the end.

It gave her chills.

His fingers, slim and cool, traced the curvature of her cheekbones, her jawline, and down her neck. His lips were painstakingly close to her face, his breath warm on her skin. She held still and did not move, because in this instant, he was the predator and she was the prey. N was different. Changed. Colder, more distant, with moments of darker and disturbing sensuality. Such as this one.

"You're warm," he murmured into her ear, his touches like butterflies fluttering across her flesh. "Feverish, even. Do you need to rest?"

"I said I'm _fine_," she snapped, finally regaining a bit of her old self as she tried to push past him. But she teetered, unsteady on her heels, and N caught her, and that was incentive enough for him to worry about her physical condition. She fell against his chest in an almost ironic, fairytale way, the beads and baubles in her hair clinking and clattering like a bag full of marbles.

"You're dizzy. Tipsy, like you've had something bad to drink." He gave her a wink, and she felt something roll in her guts. "Shall we have some tea? It's good for the nerves, you know."

She _was_ a little thirsty, and besides, there was no point in refuting his suggestions, so she agreed and he knocked lightly on the door, asking Concordia to bring them refreshments. Touko heard the woman stepping away, and then it was just her, N, and Zoroark, who continued to watch her, mouth turning up a little at the corners whenever she got too close to the king.

"Sit down," N ordered. "You've obviously not had enough rest."

"I-"

"Don't bother lying. I can see you trembling, like an Eevee kit caught in the winter without shelter. And your bones." His hands curled around her wrists, her arms, gliding gently over her skin and pressing down to feel the hard protrusion of her all-too visible bones underneath.

He exhaled sharply. "Have you been getting enough nutrition?"

"I've eaten, if that's what you're asking." She was practically spitting words at him now, annoyed by his line of questioning.

"But not enough." His eyes glinted. "You've been depriving yourself, haven't you? Have you thrown up into the bedpan, into the wastebaskets? Is that what you do?"

Touko's mouth opened, then closed instantly like a door slamming shut. It was too late, however. That brief pause of hesitation was enough for N-fuck, anyone _observant _enough-to realize the big, fat lie. She'd never been good at fibbing, for what it was worth, but she had to give it a try, didn't she?

"Touko, answer me." His gaze was piercing, intent, and discerning. He was trying to force his way inside her, trying to get the truth.

She lied, saying, "I have eaten. I'm just not hungry. I've lost my appetite."

"Please," he scoffed. "I can see it, you know. You've been provided with a strict nutritional routine to ensure the healing process goes properly, and by my estimates you should have a bit more fat on you than you do now. You're skeleton-thin, Touko, barely anything but skin and bones."

She hugged her arms to her chest, suddenly feeling guarded and defensive. "It's _nothing_, I said."

N's mouth was narrowed into a thin, severe line, his lips crushed together. He seemed to be deliberating over what to do with her, his insurgent little princess.

"In a few minutes Anthea will be around with a bit of food, some refreshments for you and I." He eyed her pensively. "You will eat, and I will observe to make sure that you do. There won't be any hiding this time. Not from you. It's vital that you're getting the proper nourishment day by day, or else your body will simply... fail."

"What if I don't want to?" she challenged. "What if I decide to starve?"

His eyes widened at that, but quickly settled. He flashed her a crooked, N-esque smile. "You will eat," he repeated, and she understood that it was not a request or a demand, but rather a fact. The statement was laden with the arrogance he had displayed in their first initial encounters, and Touko thought that N had_ regressed_ somehow, that she was seeing a previous N and not the one she had come to know throughout her travels, her defeat, and her subsequent treatment at his mercy.

He had definitely changed, that was for sure. His voice was commanding, compelling, and she couldn't shake the image of him as a king. He sounded the part perfectly.

So, she drew up a chair and waited, her arms folded across her lap, gnawing on her lower lip. N pulled up a chair of his own, sitting down across from her. Despite the imminent arrival of the ceremony, he was still dressed casually, in a loose white t-shirt, black trousers, and, of all things, sneakers. His hair was tousled as ever and slightly damp-just washed, maybe?-but he commanded an air of regal importance. Her eyes drifted downwards, staring at the stitching of her dress, at the little white roses in all their fake elegance.

The door opened and in came Anthea with a little cart, as promised. It served as a miniature wheeled table of sorts, wide enough to accommodate a four-tier tea tray, a teapot, cups, dishes, napkins, and silverware. There was even a tiny glass with a snipped lily placed in the center; a splash of refreshing white against the brightness of the food and the dark red color of the tea.

"My lord," Anthea murmured. "Refreshments."

"Thank you, Anthea." N took a teacup, examined the stem closely, and said, "You may leave now."

"Yes, my lord." The woman gave a bow, then left once again, her dress swishing around her feet as she pulled the door shut. Zoroark snuffled lightly at her arrival and departure, but paid her no further attention. The fox seemed to be asleep.

N gestured at the cart, smiling. "Have a bite."

A veritable medley of aromas wafted towards her, as well as a variety of sights. Exotic starfruit, dragonfruit, and mangosteen, sliced and arranged, as well as Pecha berries and Chesto berries drizzled with what appeared to be golden Combee honey. Pastries, tarts, scones, even little cream puffs topped with melted chocolate. Tiny tea sandwiches cut in perfect rectangles, triangles, and squares, filled with cucumbers and sliced ham and strawberries with cream cheese. Even little candies: caramels, marzipan, gummies, mascarpone creations, and other sweets.

Gently, N poured tea into a dainty china cup. The tea was a dark, bloodred color, and little whorls of steam rose as the liquid settled. Taking a fork, he speared a piece of Pecha berry and placed it onto her plate.

"Eat," he commanded, nudging it towards her.

The slice was a luscious pink, and it really _was_ Combee honey; the gourmet sort, not the run-of-the-mill stuff you brought in supermarkets. The honey had an amber tint, indicating that it had probably been aged a bit before being opened. She could smell it, rich and heady and perfumed. It made her dizzy.

"_Eat_," he repeated, popping a cubed caramel into his mouth and chewing. "You'll need your energy later."

"I'm not-"

"That's not going to be a useful excuse this time." His eyes narrowed. "You've clearly been neglecting to eat properly for at least several weeks, and Arceus knows how long before that. You used to be quite famished, you know. It was as though you could never get enough to eat at mealtimes. What's changed? A paranoid survival instinct that's been triggered? A true loss of appetite? Or, perhaps..." He tapped his skull teasingly. "... an affliction of the mind?"

She gritted her teeth and dug her own fork into the slice, savagely cutting it into tiny pieces before eating one of them. Instantly, her tongue was assaulted by the cloying sweetness, and she had to fight the urge to spit it out. N was watching her carefully as he buttered a scone and ate it, his eyes trained on her throat, watching her swallow. His observational fixation on her eating methods was... unnerving, to say the least, but she wouldn't let him win this, whatever it was. A game, or a test. N's games had escalated in intensity, and she would not give him the satisfaction of victory. Not after being defeated by him in battle, which was horrifying enough.

Stab. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Her stomach was starting to rebel against her, ready to spill its contents at a moment's notice. She washed down the sweetness with a swig of tea, which tasted spicy and had only the faintest hint of sugar about it. The liquid was scalding, but she paid it no heed. Aggressively, she took two ham sandwiches from the tray and tore a vicious bite out of the triangular bread. She couldn't let him see how far she had sunk. Not here. Not at this point.

Bite. Chew. Swallow. Crumbs fell from her mouth and onto her plate like snow, her teeth gnashing the sandwiches into pulp. She deliberately chewed with her mouth open, trying to provoke N, but the tea-haired king ignored her goading and ate his own food calmly without fuss.

"Delicious, isn't it?" he asked, grinning.

She put on a fake half-smile, quite possibly the first smile on her face in months. "Yes. It is."

"The starfruit and dragonfruit are cultivated in Mistralton City, where the greenhouses are specially maintained to imitate certain tropical and subtropical climates, thus allowing for the growth of rare gems like these." N plucked up a piece of starfruit and took a bite from one of the five points, chewing thoughtfully. "The mangosteen is from Drfitveil, where moderate quantities of these fruits are flown in from places like Hoenn and Johto. The pastries are elaborate, yes? They're from a place called Kalos, which is a region, not a city or a town. Some of the cities in Kalos have very traditional, classical connections with food, and as such, they take cuisine very seriously." Finishing off his starfruit, he proceeded to take a miniature fruit tart and place it in front of her. She stared at it with some trepidation.

"It's very good," he assured her. "Everything's very fresh. Or do you already feel full, after just some sandwiches and fruit?"

She was sorely tempted to reply, _Yes_, but held herself back. "Oh, no. I couldn't possibly let all of this go to waste."

"If you say so." He flashed her a bright grin, then slid another tart, two chocolates, three cream puffs, a cucumber sandwich, and a strawberry sandwich onto her plate, as well as refilling her cup. The food was excessive and far more than what she felt she could eat and properly digest without vomiting. Bile churned in her gut, and she felt something low and heavy settle in her mouth. She tasted sugar and meat, which wasn't the most pleasant combination, on her tongue.

"What's the matter? Not hungry?"

He was toying with her. _He _was now provoking her. He'd known from the start, but had been trying to get her to admit it herself; perhaps he considered a personal victory of sorts, that he'd been able to coerce the truth out from her lips via manipulation.

Taking a bite of the tart, she felt her stomach rebel violently as the food slipped down her throat. This meal was too much, too extravagant, for her stomach to handle, especially after the deprivation she had been forcing herself through. Getting out of her chair, she staggered, swaying to and fro like she was inebriated, her hands folded tightly across her too-thin belly. A groan made its way out of her mouth, painful and keening.

"N, I-I..."

Faster than she had anticipated, he leapt up, grabbed a wastebasin, and held it in front of her as her cheeks swelled grotesquely and she threw up- thankfully, not on him or herself. Acid burned against her gums, on the sides of her mouth, and she could taste the vomit and smell it, which triggered her nausea and she gave a little lurch as she vomited again.

"You have, haven't you?" he asked, knowing full well the answer. "You've been purging yourself after you eat." His fingers moved deftly and held her hair back, her chest still heaving with the exertion, her body clammy and white.

"Touko," he whispered. "Look at me."

She did, and he dabbed lightly at her lips with a napkin. His brow was furrowed, his eyes dark.

"Sit down," he commanded. She sat back down, and he stood beside her, tucking the wastebasket away and pouring her another cup of tea. The steaming brew splashed against the sides of the cup, little droplets scattered like dew. With the methodical, careful approach of a chemist mixing two volatile ingredients, N spooned sugar into the tea, mixed, then offered it to her.

"Drink," he ordered, tilting the rim to her mouth. Touko drank greedily, not caring that the tea was as hot as it had been before and each sip burned on its way down. She only wanted to wipe the taste of vomit out of her teeth, to clear her tongue of bile. When she was done, N poured another cup, and another, and another, all the while pouring it into her mouth himself, his lips parted slightly, his hand on her shoulder. His skin felt cool against hers, which was burning hot and feverish, but she kept drinking. The tea tasted of bitter raspberries, spicy-sweet anise, and a touch of mint or some other ingredient she was unable to name. Whatever it was, it acted like a relaxant, calming her churning stomach and lulling her into a steady rhythm.

Drink. Pause. Drink.

"There," N murmured. "Are you alright?"

"I am now," she croaked, coughing. She wiped her mouth, still recoiling at the bare aftertaste of her gut's contents.

"It's because you haven't eaten this much in a while. That's why you threw up; because your body couldn't handle it." He frowned. "Tell me, Touko, how long as this been going on?"

She gave a joyless laugh. "Don't you already know?"

"I have my guesses, but I need solid evidence. So tell me. How long, Touko?"

Her hands were clenched tight, her knuckles standing out against the thin layer of skin across her fingers. In a quiet voice, she muttered, "About two months."

"Why?"

"I wasn't hungry."

"You could have told your attendants, you know. They would have given you smaller but regulated portions, enough to satisfy your nutritional intake without being overwhelming. That, and more. I've given you half of Team Plasma, you know." His tone became harder, accusational. "Every member, every soldier, would've responded to your beck and call. I made sure of that. What's mine is yours, after all." He reached out suddenly and drew her chin up, so that they were looking each other eye-to-eye. Jade and blue. "Now, why did you do this? It can't be good for you if you throw up everything you eat. It's a very damaging mental condition. An eating disorder, that is."

"It's none of your business."

"It's every bit of my business."

"Don't snoop where you don't belong."

He gave her a heartless smile. "Don't try to kill yourself."

She clenched her jaw, snapping her traitorous lips shut before she could say anything, but N already saw through the ploy. Of course he did. He saw everything. He was the king, right? She gnawed on her lower lip, chewing it into ragged pieces, while he watched her, waiting for her response.

"Your latest actions have been more self-destructive than I foresaw, Touko. I gave you nothing you could use to harm yourself. But obviously, rejection is a form of self-harm, isn't it? You can't take, so you try to push away, is that correct?" He glowered. "Don't do this. This charade, shabby as it was, lasted long enough to get you _this _far. That will end today."

She dared not speak as he continued, "If you prove to be incapable of controlling your own harmful actions, you will be monitored closely at all times. If you continue on this destructive path, I will personally make sure that you are steered away before you get lost completely. If you don't eat, then we'll get rid of the forks and spoons and plates altogether and regress back into the IV drip. For all intents and purposes, you will be deemed physically unfit to handle even the most basic of actions and, as such, will be treated accordingly. This is my ultimatum to you."

He stared. She cowered under his gaze, acid in her throat.

"What will it be? Do you want to be in control? Or would you rather I operate in your place?"

"It's just my life."

"It's my life, too."

"How is it your life?" she snapped. "Why does it bother you what goes on in my head? Why the hell are you psychoanalyzing me every time we meet? Does it really mean that much to you how I tick? Is there a point to all your prying? Are you trying to turn me into a formula, too?"

N didn't react with anger. Instead, he leaned back, folded his arms behind his head, and said, "Of course there's a point. I want to make the world into an equation; pure numbers, no unnecessary variables to complicate things. Thus, I have to poke and dissect to figure out how things work." He placed a finger on his chin, pensive. "But you... you're an anomaly. You're a strange, fluctuating person, Touko. I'm getting close, though. To figuring out how you tick, I mean."

"People aren't numbers to be manipulated, N. You have to realize that. The world isn't a chemical equation."

"I never said they were numbers to be manipulated. In fact, people aren't to be manipulated, they're to be studied and theorized about. Like you, for example."

"Me?"

"Why are you so rebellious, I wonder? What drives you to do the things that you do, to want to die?" She flinched at those words, but he went on, "Is it because of emotion? Yes, it is. However, emotion isn't the sole motivation, is it?"

"Stay out of my head," Touko warned.

"Bonds. That's what the missing link is. Bonds. Connections. Links. They're tugging on you with their own inexorable gravity, pulling you home, aren't they?"

"Stop it."

"Touko, I'm not denying you the freedom you want. You can visit your parents, your friends, as I told you. But, you have to remember that you also have a bond to this castle. To me. And I don't want you to neglect that."

"Like Hades and Persephone," she mumbled, wringing her fingers. "She ate the fruit of the Underworld-"

"-and for six months, was bound to the chthonian realm. That's it, Touko. That's what I want you understand. There's a part of you that belongs to me now."

_There's a part of you that belongs to me now. _Hearing it said out loud sent shivers up her spine; not the words, really, but the truth behind them. Her entire being screamed in denial, but the rational, _N _part of her mind protested, saying that his words were real, that they held her as firmly as any pair of shackles would.

He was a king, and she was his princess, and he had an unshakable hold on her. Two parts of her, divided between black and white. The division, the separation was tearing her apart. Her eyes felt warm, salty, and suddenly she was crying into her palms. Ruining her makeup, too, but she didn't care.

N was in front of her in the space of a heartbeat, kissing away her tears, stroking her hair, her back, freezing her with every brief contact. His skin was ice, and hers was aflame, burning and burning and burning. On his finger, she saw the serpent ring again; the jade snake was coiled around the silver band, biting its own tail.

_Ouroboros. The end of the world and the rebirth of the world. The phoenix's endsong. Armageddon and the Big Bang._

"I don't want you to treat me like... like I'm one your possessions. I'm not a doll, or a trophy, or anything like that."

"Of course not," he whispered, trailing cold kisses down her neck, rubbing circles around her collarbones, setting her on chilled fire. "You're much more to me than a material artifact."

"What am I?"

"You're my queen," he answered, looking at her and swerving the conversation in such a skewed track that her angry outburst, the harsh words, and the bitterness stewing inside of her seemed like things of the past. Despite herself, she found herself leaning into his touch, responding to him in ways she couldn't understand. The unspoken connection lingered, a string tethering them together like balloons, hero-to-hero, truths to ideals, black to white, with its strange, inexorable pull.

"You're my everything, Touko," N murmured, his hands around her back, his lips against her ear, his breath warm against the coldness of his body. "You make me wild, and you excite me, and for you, I would steal the moon and the sun and the stars from space and give them to you on a silver platter." He kissed her on both cheeks, her make-up on his lips. "I want to run with you, wherever you go. I want to make my castle your home."

They were pretty words, poetic and powerful, sentimental declarations of love. For the first time, she really _felt _the connection between them as heroes, fallen or not; it was a thin, gossamer thing, intangible but tangible, and it made her feel that their heartbeats were synchronized, that she could peer into his mind and he could do the same with her, that they were deeply intertwined like the serpents on a caduceus. It pulsed, it resonated, it drew them together like magnets.

But, there was an unfathomable emptiness to his speech, to his mannerisms. Like hugging a machine, hard but uncomfortable, strong but soulless. Theirs was a dying love, a dead love.

He was beautiful, though. Angelic. Serene. From his sparkling emerald eyes to the aquiline planes of his jaw, his nose, the redness of his lips, it was all beautiful and heartbreaking.

_What am I to you, N?_

Dimly, she recalled the Ferris wheel and how it had rotated so, like a two-dimensional representation of the planet. He had been so different, then. Still arrogant, but not as much. There were fireworks in the sky and thousands of dancing lights in the cities below. Parents and children, young couples, and loners adorned in the glowing tears of the stars. The air was festive, and she could smell cotton candy, frying french fries, ice cream and soda, and grilling hot dogs even through the class of their car.

He had made her feel really, truly _alive_ then. Wild and free. Untamed. With butterfly kisses and butterfly words, he had lit a flame in her heart, and then it had gone out. Phantom touches repeated themselves here, as his hands caressed her, embraced her, and tried to reignite the faded spark with little success.

She pulled away. "Do you mean that? What you said?"

"I'm the hero of Truth, Touko." He gave her a lopsided smile. "I think that's explanation enough."

Touko swallowed. Hard. His hair was tousled, her mascara was slightly smudged, and they were both breathing heavily.

"I..."

"Yes?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?"

"_This_. Kissing me."

"You don't like it?"

"It's... different," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Not like it used to be."

"And how was it once like for you?" he asked, reclining against the back of his chair.

"It was real."

"This isn't real?"

"You might not lie with words," she added, "but you lie with actions. The hero of Truth isn't entirely truthful."

"Really? How do I lie?"

"I'm just a pawn, aren't I? A toy? You haven't gotten rid of me yet because... because you want to gloat, don't you? About beating me?"

"Why on earth would I want that?"

"Because you've changed," she finished sadly, her voice sounding limp and weak, her eyes downcast. "You've changed, and I'm not sure what to do."

"I've changed for you," he replied. "I love you. That's why."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No, you don't love me anymore. Not like you used to."

"Because I've changed?"

"Because I don't know you anymore. You-you're not the N I used to know."

"Who am I, then?" N was gazing at her with a startling intensity, an intensity that was so much more... extreme than it used to be. He had escalated. He was above her. An angel. She didn't recognize him, this new, colder N. Tears streaked down her cheeks and splashed onto her dress like raindrops.

"You've changed, N. And not for the better."

"I'm protecting you," he responded. "Everything I do, I do for you. I do it with you in my mind, thinking about how it'll help you rather than hurt you. This destructiveness, this impulsiveness... it has to stop. Starving yourself isn't an answer. You're not yourself. I don't know why, but... you're changing, too."

"And you think it's your duty to stop it?"

N smiled that same painful, joyless, humorless smile, his teeth glinting pearly-white against the overhead lights. "It's my duty to heal you, Touko. It's my duty to make sure you survive. All because I'm in love with you."

"You're in love with a forgotten girl, then," she laughed. "I'm not the person you fell in love with, either. I'm gone, N. I was gone a long time ago, back when it was all still _real, _back when our chemistry wasn't fake. Back when I wasn't just a number on a sheet to be studied and analyzed and whatnot."

Her lashes fluttered. "We're both changing, N. It has to be acknowledged, not hidden and covered up, like you want. We're not the same people anymore. You aren't. I'm not. I think it's best if we... if we moved on."

"No."

"What?" The word shook Touko like a thunderclap, and she jerked her head back up, gaping at him in disbelief. He'd rejected her rejection.

"No, Touko. Remember, you're not yourself." He traced the slant of her cheekbones and wiped away a tear in a gesture that was both gentle yet unexplainably frightening. His eyes were like lances, boring into her soul. His face was statuary, carved out of marble and just as unfeeling and unsympathetic. He was a shadow. "It's not over. Not yet. Not by a long shot. Not if I can help it." He ran a hand through his mess of green hair, mussing it up further. "I'll work hard, Touko. For years, if I have to, to regain your trust, your affection. I'll... I'll give you worlds, Touko, but you can't give up."

"N, I... I..." Her voice was hoarse, and she was running out of words to say rapidly, and through it all, her heart was breaking into tinier and tinier pieces. He was stealing the sentences right out of her mouth.

At last, she broke down sobbing, and in one swift movement, she crossed the distance between them, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and shook him back and forth like a ragdoll. Zoroark growled at the contact and bolted to its feet, but still she shook him, lost in her own throes of anguish.

"Damn you, you just don't get it, do you?" she screamed, tears running down her eyes like rainfall. "I never wanted any of this! The castles, the crowns, the dragons, I never cared for it! I only cared for you, and now you're gone. Completely and irrevocably _gone_. And you don't even know it, do you? You're excellent at observing the clockwork systems of other people, but you don't even know who you _are_." Touko sniffed, but pressed on, "We're both different now, you had that right. I've changed. You've changed. We... we aren't the people we used to be. We don't love each other like we once did. It's dead, don't you understand? The girl you loved is gone! You're in love with an idea, a figment of your imagination, but you're just too blind to see it!"

"That girl is still there," he insisted. "She's real. You're real."

"If you love me, let me die," she begged, her grip loosening, feeling herself already tumbling to the ground and into an abyss. "If you ever loved me- the old me -then let me go."

"I can't," he whispered.

She fell, then. For the second time. She fell, and he picked her up and set her on a chair, doll that she was, and moved one of her earrings so that it was in place. Her face was damp, her hands were numb, and she felt just as cold as he was, for once. Like all the warmth had been drained from her body, leaving a terrible frigid nothingness in its place.

_I'm dead._

"You're alive," N muttered. "You're alive, and you're going to be queen. This world will be yours. _I_ will be yours." He kissed her on the forehead, then stood up.

As he left, Zoroark in tow, he looked back. She was still unmoving, a slumped figure, her head in her hands.

Something in him flickered, and for a second, everything was normal again.

[/ / /]

A sea of men and women parted as he walked through them, head held high, a golden crown resting on his head. He was dressed in the ceremonial clothes now-robes adorned with gilded lettering that swirled and swept around him like wings. Wings formed from the dust of supernovae and made of silver and gold, and with fire and lightning.

He stepped on plush red carpet, Ghetsis leading him ahead. The Sages were all lined up side-to-side, bowed in reverence to him and his title. Behind the throne, Reshiram waited, registering him with a psychic call.

_Greetings, Natural, _it spoke, and he greeted it in reciprocation. There was a steady thrumming in the air, the buzz of power that existed between him and the White Dragon. It sang in his veins like a hymnn, it burned through his synapses like magma flowing beneath the earth in underground channels, it soothed him and strengthened him. This was the bond between Hero and God.

The Head Sage's machinations. The fated battle. His coronation. Passing memories, fleeting and grasping, and a checkerboard battlefield where two deities did battle.

All of it had led to this.

_The End... and The Beginning._

Scattered around his podium were camera crews and wires, black cables and monitors, audio and recording equipment all brought out to broadcast his words to the nation. Every screen in Unova would be displaying his face and blasting his message today without fail, and everyone Unovan citizen would be watching and listening.

He drew in a steady breath, trying to calm his nerves. The event could hardly compare with the prior anticipation. But he was brave. He could do this.

As he stepped up the stone stairs, his footsteps like drumbeats in the still silence, his mind wandered to the scenes of the morning. To Touko, and _her _words, and he really did feel sad that people and Pokemon were about to separated. A rift was being born, and it was because of his actions that the chasm was pulling the two species apart.

But it was for the greater good, in the end. The results overruled the means. The Dragon was with him. He would be strong. For Touko. For himself. For years of preparation, for years of devotion and loyalty, for brief, blissful interludes where he truly felt on fire and he was holding a girl who was similarly ablaze; a girl with eyes the color of the sea, a girl who ran with shooting stars and rode on Ferris wheels and who looked at him sometimes with happiness in her open smiles.

_Worlds, Touko. I would give you worlds, universes, the entirety of creation itself. For you, I will make sure you live. For you, the Apocalypse will lead into a bright tomorrow. For you, I swim and sink. _

_For you. All for you._

He closed his eyes, and through Reshiram, he could envision storm clouds, raging tides, red volcanoes, and a rain of ash falling from the skies. The White Dragon prompted him, as did Ghetsis, as did an entire nation on its knees, waiting for him to say what he had come to say.

"Greetings, Unova," he began. "My name is Natural Harmonia, but you may call me N. I am your new Champion, and today, I have come to address you for the first time on behalf of Team Plasma."

A pause.

"Since the beginning of time, man has subjugated Pokemon to his whims, domesticating them and turning them into tools of greed, destruction, and pride. Pokemon have degenerated from the great beings they once were into cattle, into beasts that are forced to battle for your entertainment. Pokemon are abused, and hurt, and tossed aside by cruel, callous hands once they have been deemed unfit as instruments of war.

"Is this what we have become, Unova? A race of warmongerers, a crowd of self-possessed inviduals constantly looking for new ways to exploit the ones we falsely label our friends? Have we really not evolved as much as we assumed, but have instead been locked in a perpetual cycle of abuse and avarice?

"The answer, Unova, is, of course, yes. We turn a blind eye to the downtrodden and broken, and a deaf ear to the cries of the beaten and enslaved. We force Pokemon through arbitrary battles for the sole purpose of inflating our own egos, of adding to our boastfulness, of winning money in glorified cockfights that the whole nation watches with rapt attention, uncaring to the suffering plights of the Pokemon involved.

"I ask you, is this right? To subjugate an entire species that we do not understand as a method of conquest? To send these creatures out on the frontlines of our petty conflicts and skirmishes, demanding that they become monsters which they are not? To impose an entire culture of brutality on Pokemon, to indoctrinate them in the art of bloodshed?"

He raised a fist. "We have an eternity of apologies to give, an eternity of charity to offer. But the greatest gift to these mistreated beings we could ever give out would be the gift of freedom."

Reshiram's energy hummed through him, in him, _as_ him, and it filled him with a radiance, a charismatic energy that hypnotized and pulled in. Below the massive billboards of Castelia, in the television sets of Nimbasa and Driftveil, on the computers and phones and devices of every home in every city in every part of the region, the citizens observed and heard as the green-haired man-no more than a boy, really-on their screens spoke and swept them along with his words.

Gesturing behind him, N shouted, "The myths are true! Look, look at the Yang Dragon, in the flesh!" Reshiram crooned, a high, howling sound that sent shivers through everyone present, shaking the foundations of the ceiling. "Your stories, your fables are realized in me! _I _am the Hero, and Unova speaks through me, in me, all around me. Can you hear it? Can you hear the voices of the oppressed rising up in protest? Can you hear them banging on the walls of all the corrupt institutions, the Gyms and the League, demanding justice?"

The assembled grunts began chanting, a rolling, riotous chorus repeating the name of their king, as N roared, "No longer shall we sit by idly, oblivious to the sufferings of the oppressed! No more, Unova, no more! The burdened will be let go! Pokemon will be freed from their human constraints, never again bound to the notions and ideals of a war-based society! The League will be dissolved, and all its associated affiliates disbanded! The era of injustice is over! A new dawn will rise!"

As the chanting reached a crescendo, N bellowed, "_I am N Harmonia, your king, and henceforth, all Pokemon shall be freed! Unova has long suffered in the shadows of Pokemon enslavement, but today we are headed into a glorious future and a brighter tomorrow! Today, we alight on the wings of Reshiram and dive into a new world! Today, Unova is reborn from the ashes of its former self! Today, Unova lives!_"

In a quieter voice, he added, "I am N Harmonia, and today, the world will be changed forever."

-:-:-

{**PART 1 END**}

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**A/N: Thanks to the following reviewers for reviewing the previous chapter: _weavingathousandravens, zephyr, accadian, PhantomhiveKitty, Blu Rose, SeafoamPurpleCurtains, ExilEden, shadowkitten11, ikutolover182, AldrutheBrovahkiin, Haine-chan, Zerkoz, hecatoncheir-greater, zeref288, EmpyreanHost19, DemosthenesLocke101, gaeiaangelis, TheEighthHeapChild, accadian, Koneko29, Guest (7/10), AlexandriteAmber, vector'sangel, xCassiopeianx, graystarburst, zuTara88, endraken, shadows in your midst, darkviola, darkviola, The Light's Refrain, Wandering Soul, MaikeruDesu, Morpheus, with-stars-in-my-eyes, asdfjkl, ferriswheelftw, robotakkii, TwinSunsOfMars, dayum, dark-depths-of-space, parachutes in december, _and _Guest (8/9). _**

**Thank you all so much for reviewing, and I hope that you'll continue to review! :)**


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